Metaphysical Marathon
by KateEals
Summary: Jules receives treatment for and tries to overcome her PTSD.  Sequel to 'Mutiny of The Brain.'  Contains JAM, sarcasm, and Greg-Jules moments.
1. Jules Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

**Author's Note: ** So, Jules with PTSD is back by popular demand. Maybe particularly because Sules threatened to come to America and kick me if I didn't do a sequel. Some people may see our relationship as abusive, but she just constantly makes me laugh my butt off! SWAT Forever! Anyho, thanks to everyone who read Mutiny. Glad you liked the angst. Oh, look, more angst! I know what you're thinking: "Oh, Come on Eals! Metaphysics! Seriously!" Well, chill guys. I'm a self and identity psychologist; the only part of metaphysics I care about is the Mind-Brain Problem. Also, I realize these two stories together form my soap box piece on how Anxiety Disorders and Depression DO NOT make someone crazy and they should not have such negative connotation associated with them. No one should ever be ashamed to ask for help when they need it for fear of stigma. We all hit mental bumps on the road of life and there is nothing wrong with seeking help at such points. Okay, my soap box is about to crush, because, Dude, it's A SOAP BOX for cry'n out loud. So, I'll step off. Oh, and the title of this chapter should tell you, there're more than two jokes in this piece.

I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint, Rod Stewart songs, the Marx Brothers, or Firefly. I still own a few of the hand-turkeys I made in school for Thanksgiving though. . .

Metaphysical Marathon

Chapter 1: Jules Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

**The Flashpoint**

This could NOT Freak'n be happening. What horrendous atrocity did she commit in a past life to deserve this kind of crappy Karma? How does someone just _happen upon_ a hostage situation Freak'n TWICE in one's life?

"Everyone, down on the ground!" the delusional subject shouted.

_Okay. This guy's delusional. Schizophrenic. Ben Covington was a delusional Schizophrenic. I lost my chance to help him. . . Keep your head in the game, Jules!_

Panic began to rise in her mind. The now familiar maladaptive neurotransmitters were fighting to incapacitate her once again. The haze and lightning strikes were beginning to cloud her mind as they did so many times before.

But, not this time.

She would fight to maintain control of her own thoughts; automatic negativity would no longer be her captor. She would fight to re-claim ownership of her own mind, brain, and self, which had been on lease to the anxiety for far too long.

Steeling her nerves and clearing her mind, she rose from her prone position on the floor with her hands raised.

"Hey, my name's Jules. I want to see if I can help you out."

**A Few Weeks Earlier**

"Hey. I'm Sam, and I'm here with Jules," Sam proclaimed to the group at large.

He and Jules were together in a group therapy situation where the loved ones of the clients in in-patient care at this rehabilitation facility could show their support and express their own thoughts and feelings about how the clients' psychological problems had affected them. After all, when a loved one is suffering through any type of psychological disorder, they are not the only ones to go through pain.

"So Sam, what do you do?" the group therapist asked.

"I'm a police officer in the Strategic Response Unit with Jules. I'm mostly a sniper and tactical leader. I don't usually get to do the super heroic talk-down stuff like Jules. Although," Sam paused with a smile on his face. He thought with pride about all the times Jules had chased down subjects and been a valuable asset to the tactical side of Team One. And, of course, there was the fact that he had originally met her as a 'sexy sniper chick.' His smile widened. "She certainly knows her way around an assault and sniper rifle as well."

Jules shot him a 'why the HELL are you talking about rifles and being a sniper at a PTSD support group session!' look.

Fantastic, Samtastic.

He quickly worked to rectify his major goof. "So, yeah, I'm a cop. . ."

Fabulous. That'll work.

The mediator took charge to prevent any more of Sam's thoughtless gaffs.

"So, you're here to support Jules. Would you like to share any of your thoughts and feelings about what's been going on with her?"

Jules shot Sam a weary look. She was obviously afraid of what he might say, whether that was about him making a statement that would unleash a mass-hysteria type string of flashbacks and panic attacks or about how much her condition had pained him, was indeterminable.

"Honestly," Sam began. . .

_Here we go_, thought Jules.

"I'm surprised it took her this long to run into a crazy glitch." Jules flinched at his poor word choice. She seriously needed to educate the man. "The reality is, Jules is pretty much super-human. She's the strongest person I know," he smiled down at her. "I've seen her jump off buildings to save people, get shot, and have a gun on her while she's unarmed countless times." He grinned once more at the memories of her always coming out on top. "But, I think the strongest, bravest thing she's ever done is admit that she's human and could use some help." Same reached over and have Jules a somewhat awkward, seated half hug.

Jules face-palmed at his cheesiness, but she had to admit, what he said had truly touched her. It never ceased to amaze her how much he, Sarge, and the rest of the team still cared about her even after what she had been putting them through. She would have to let him know that in some manner.

A few more clients and loved ones shared their touchy-feely thoughts and emotions, and the meeting ended.

Rising, Jules began to lead Sam to the lobby of the facility where they would have to exchange their good-byes before Jules had to return to her next 'program sanctioned activity.'

'Program Sanctioned Activities' in a rehabilitation hospital. Sam thought about how Jules must truly hate it here.

"So, that didn't go so badly," Sam began.

"Yeah, I managed to hold in my vomit from eating all that touchy-feely cheese," Jules quipped.

Sam smiled. It was good to see her sardonic wit return.

"But," Jules continued, "I have to admit that some of your cheese touched my heart." She paused and shuddered at her own words. "Dear God, it's like a plague. I've got to get out of this place." Recovering from her cool-aid drinking language, she soldiered on to express what she meant to say. She looked up into his eyes and grabbed his hand. "Have I told you lately that I love you?"

Sam grinned widely. No, she hadn't. Her words more than warmed his heart; they lit his soul on fire. He'd been dreaming of her responding to him emotionally for over a month.

"No, Rod Stewart, you haven't." He bent down to kiss her forehead.

They were silent in their stylized embrace for a moment.

"Alright, you better get back to the real world, Braddock," Jules stepped back from him. "I have to return to my funny-farm fun." She raised her eyebrows and gave him a sarcastic smile. "Maybe we'll get to do macaroni art (!)" She flicked her eyebrows like Groucho Marx.

Sam snorted a laugh and leaned towards her to kiss her forehead again.

"Bye, Jules." Stepping away, he remembered a thought. "Oh, and Sarge said he's gonna stop by later today."

"Great. I want 'ta show him the new hand-turkey I made for him!" Jules sarcastically shouted to Sam's retreating form.

Sam chuckled to himself as he walked towards his car. Jules' heightened sarcasm may be a defense mechanism, but at least she was emotionally engaged enough to use it.

And, he knew she hated this place. Unfortunately, it was a necessary evil.

He thought back to the conversation they had had when he'd helped her pack the day before for her two-week stay in in-patient care at the rehabilitation center.

He frowned at the memory. The revelations had scared the living day-lights out of him.

"I don't get it, Jules. Why do you have to STAY there? Why can't you just do the day-time out-patient program?"

Jules rolled her eyes at him a bit. Since the night before and her realization that she needed to get help to get over the pain she was non-living through, she had regained a fraction of her signature fire and wit. Although nowhere near her usual fire-cracker status, she was beginning to seem alive again.

"Sarge is afraid I'm gonna freak the Hell out when I'm driving and crash into something." The humor in her face faded as she strived to continue on in a more serious direction. "Plus. . . my genetic predisposition freaks him out."

Sam was now entirely lost and confused.

"What genetic predisposition?"

"Sam." She walked towards him and grabbed both of his hands in hers. This was something that was obviously hard for her to tell him.

"You know how I don't have a mom?"

Sam's eyes grew deep and pensive, inexplicable and inherent foreboding-worry striking his heart.

"Sam," she looked up at him before looking back down at their joined hands. "My mother had severe anxiety and depression, and," she sighed, willing herself to continue. "She killed herself."

Sam had never been so shocked and frightened in his life, and he had been through a war and held hostage at grenade-point.

"Jules, would you. . . have you. . ." He couldn't finish.

"Honestly, I don't know. And, I don't trust myself to not do something unconsciously."

And so, Jules had checked into in-patient care where she would be on low-key suicide watch for the hard first two weeks of her recovery. Sam was glad she was finally getting the help she needed, but that didn't stop him from worrying every second she wasn't at his side.

At least he knew she loved him.

He hoped that would be enough.

XXXX

As Jules sat in the lounge and waited for Greg to come for his visit, she thought about what a whirl-wind the past couple of days had been. She couldn't believe that it was just two days ago that she had worn an SRU officer's uniform and continued to deny that she was in the worst shape of her life. Just two days ago that she had suffered a severe flashback and panic attack in the middle of a call. Two days ago that she had fallen into Sarge's arms and admitted that she was scared of herself and needed help.

Her mind wandered to her initial interview with her assigned personal psychologist, Chris. Their initial conversation had been enlightening for her, despite the manner in which it unfolded.

"Juliana, 'Jules' Callaghan." He had ACTUALLY used air quotes for 'Jules.' Jules was already weary of him.

"Yep, my friends use air quotes and all when they call me that," she sarcastically retorted.

"Are you comfortable, can I get you anything before we begin?" Chris asked.

"Nah, I'm good except for the fact that you're about to traipse through my brain."

"I take it you don't like psychology." Chris raised an eyebrow and got a slight smirk.

"You've noticed," Jules said in a sarcastic tone.

"Which is ironic, because you're a Psychological profiler."

"Some people say irony is my middle name."

"I can see why," Chris said, signaling that he noticed she was a very sardonic person.

"So, really," Chris continued, "you love psychology. You just don't like to be the subject of the profiling."

Jules stared back at him point-blank and quickly tilted her head when she answered. "Well, I guess you have me figured out."

Chris smiled at her wit and continued on to a different topic. "Jules, are you familiar with metaphysics?"

"Yeah," Jules smiled. "I saw that episode of Firefly, 'Objects in Space,' on DVD." It was obvious she was toying with him. And he knew it.

"Yes, well, Whedon is King." Chris chose to play along.

This conversation had taken the shape of many-a verbal sparring match Jules had had with Sarge. She was quite entertained.

"There's a branch of metaphysics that looks at the Mind-Brain Problem," Chris continued. "This is the idea that the mind and the brain are separate entities, but that they are somehow, in a manner unknown, related to each other." Jules looked board at this monologue. "The brain consists of tangible entities and neurotransmitters, while the mind is the intangible substance of though, feeling. However, if something is wrong with the brain, it will affect the mind and vice versa. You look board." Chris had just looked at Jules straight in the eye for the first time since his pedantic monologue began.

"Remember our talk about how I'm a PSYCHOLOGICAL profiler?" Jules asked with more irony.

"Yes, and a wise-ass one, who uses sarcasm as a defense mechanism, at that," Chris retorted.

Jules was starting to like this guy. She smiled in humor.

Chris's speech about metaphysics and the Mind-Brain Problem had pointed her towards her personal mission objective in overcoming PTSD.

This mission would be a marathon, not a sprint.

She was now running a metaphysical marathon to learn, define, and understand her existence and current state of being. With knowledge and understanding would come the power to over-come, to change her current existence of panic and re-claim her normal state of being. She needed to solve her own personal Mind-Brain Problem and re-unite these separate spheres into a companionable partnership by which she could return to her normal state of reality.

"Hey Jules," her reverie was interrupted by Sarge.

"Boss." She rose from her chair to greet him.

He wrapped her in a big bear huge akin to the one of two nights ago.

"Good to see you kid." Greg was all smiles.

"Sarge, it's been, like, a day and a half," Jules said pulling away and sitting back down.

"Yeah, I know, but that doesn't mean I don't miss you," he said as he sat down. "Oh, what's this about art work you want to give me?" Greg said with a knowing, teasing grin. "Sam had me on tender-hooks about the 'awesomeness' of it."

"The dog ate it," Jules replied about the non-existent hand-turkey.

"So, how's everybody, Sarge?" A sad light lit the edges of Jules' eyes and mouth. She scuffed. "I bet everyone at the SRU is all a-twitter about how Jules flew over the cuckoo's nest."

Greg smiled, joyful fire in his eyes. "It's good to see your wit is returning."

Jules shrugged innocently in response.

"But, you know Jules, you shouldn't feel bad about being in here for a while." Greg got a bashful smirk on his face. "I've been to a place like this with my own problems and I've never been shot through the chest or jumped off a building to save someone." His smile turned to prideful, loving, encouragement.

"And, he'd probably use his assault rifle on me if he knew I was saying this," Greg continued in a conspiratorial tone. "But, Ed has seen people about PTSD issues every now and then too."

Jules gave him a raised eyebrow look. She obviously already figured this information and it didn't negate her disgust with having to be here.

"It's alright, Sarge. I know I have to be here." She wore a mask of hope and acceptance on her face.

"Well, you're tough, Jules." Greg smiled. "You'll be out of here and back on the job before you know it!"

Jules eyes turned dark and cloudy.

"That's the thing, Sarge. I don't think I'm coming back."

**Author's Additional Note:** Yes, Sam and Jules dropped the L word. So, that thing about Sarge being afraid of Jules having a panic attack while she was driving and crashing into something really came from real life. When I had Panic Disorder in college, my coach told me that maybe I should stop riding my bike around campus in case I freaked out and got run over. My response was something like, Gee Coachie, how is that gonna be any different from walking and getting run over during a freak-out? So, art imitates life. Hope you guys enjoy the continuing story of angst. Good thing there are a few laughs this time. Geeshe!

**Please** leave a review and tell me how you think this is going. I could use some constructive criticism and encouragement in continuing such an angst-y story line.

Cheers,

Eals


	2. Stalker in the Night, Kindred Spirit

**Author's Note: **Yo! Hope everyone in cyber-land is doing well. So, I'd like to thank everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, and placed this story on alerts. I'm completely shocked and touched (a good touch, not a bad touch) by how many people put this story on favorites after only one chapter. Wow, being a wise-guy has its perks!

I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint, Mighty Morphine Power Rangers, or Spiderman.

Metaphysical Marathon

Chapter 2: Stalker in the Night, Kindred Spirit in the Day

_ Not again._

Not this same inexplicable sensation. An uncontrollable sensation. A deathly sensation.

The fireworks were lighting the night's sky in her mind.

She had awoken with an unbearable dread. She knew what was rising upon her.

She had to get-up. Had to move. Had to find a place to suffer in silence.

But, it was always silent. This dread, this bomb was always silent. She was always the only person privy to this sadistic state of being.

As the lightning and fear clouded her mind, she ran out of her darkened room and into the lighted silence of the hall-way. Maybe the ambiance of fluorescence would guide her back to reality.

So bright. Still here. Still in the brain. Still in the throes of a maladaptive disposition.

She may not have slept well with Sam by her side for the past month, but his mere presence had staved-off the fear. The pain. The breaks from reality.

She knew she had to be here to get well, but she also needed Sam's gentle touch, his simple proximity that somehow grounded her.

"You alright, Constable? Need me to get anything for you?" asked a night time orderly when he saw her leaning against the wall in the brightly lit hall-way. His presence was part of the suicide watch element of the program.

He had called her 'Constable.' Does she still deserve that title? Does she still wear that title?

Jules grabbed her head in a fruitless attempt to regain control of her senses.

"No, I'm okay." That same meaningless retort. "I just need a minute." She bent over at her efforts.

"I'll call a therapist," said the orderly as he slowly approached her bent form.

"No, no," Jules began, fighting the haze, the stalker in the night, which was nearly incapacitating her. "I'm good." The lightning was fading; she rose from her contorted position.

"I'm good," she assured, now gaining full control of her capacities. "Don't you have a job or something?" she joked (faux) playfully, smiling at the orderly.

The orderly looked like he didn't entirely believe her. Actually, he looked like he saw right through her and didn't believe her in the least. She had to remind herself that she was now dealing with professionals who saw this kind of veiled self-monitoring manipulation of emotions every day. She was no longer only dealing with a team of men who were either as committed to denying the reality of her situation as she was, or completely oblivious.

"Alright," the orderly conceded, reading in her face that she was no longer in any eminent danger. "Let me walk you back to your room. It's very important to get your rest."

Jules relented and allowed the man to guide her.

The panic wasn't getting any better. She wondered how much longer she'd be able to continue to hold on.

XXXXX

"So, do you want to go ahead and introduce yourself? Maybe tell us what you do for a living, a little bit about yourself?" the group therapist asked Jules.

She was currently in her newly assigned therapy group. None of the people who were at the previous meeting with Sam were here, so she had to start from square one. She sincerely hoped it wouldn't be as lame this time.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," she began. She sighed. She really wasn't comfortable with all this touchy-feely emotion sharing crap. No, uncomfortable wasn't the right sentiment. Irritated by worked more accurately.

"I'm Jules Callaghan. I'm from Alberta, and I'm a cop with the SRU." Jules wasn't giving too much away. She smirked to herself. This introduction reminded her of her first meeting with Toth. She toyed with the idea of waxing poetically about her love of quilting.

"What's the SRU?" a woman from across the room butted in. Jules quickly read her face and body language. Her initial assessment was that the woman was probably very pushy. Jules predicted that she would be annoyed by her.

"It's like a SWAT team, except we also do negotiating and psychological profiling."

"Really?" the woman persisted. "You're on a SWAT team? But, you're so tiny."

Prediction correct. Jules thought about how she should set-up Madam Julianna's Psychic Consultation table in the lounge.

"Hmmph," Jules huffed. "Tell that to the subjects I've tackled and roughed-up." Jules frowned slightly. Maybe she shouldn't be talking about roughing-up subjects. The last thing she needed was a police brutality accusation on top of this little case of PTSD she was dealing with.

"Oh, but you must be a negotiator." This chick was REALY getting on Jules' nerves. "There's no way you could really do any of that hard tactical stuff," the annoying, pushy woman smirked in a confident tone.

_What the Hell is this bitch PTSD for? She's making me more PTSD with her annoyingness, _Jules thought.

"Yeah, I do mostly negotiate." Jules wasn't going to let this woman get away with her haughty attitude scot-free. "I'm also a profiler and sniper." She put heavy emphasis on her last word.

Several people in the group flinched.

Jamtastic.

Now she was the one talking about snipers in a PTSD support group. She considered placing her foot in her mouth.

But, if she was being really honest with herself, she would realize that the main reason this woman was getting on her nerves was that she kept insisting Jules talk about her job, a job she had failed spectacularly at a few days ago and was nearly certain she wouldn't return to. She still couldn't risk getting anyone on the team or in the public killed because of her negligence. Especially not Sam.

The rest of the meeting rolled on with Jules not having to say any more. That was a good thing, because Jules feared that if she opened her mouth she might gag on all the touchy-feely emotional cool-aid she was being forced to drink. It turned out that the annoying woman, Carly ("with a 'C' (!)," *Jules fake smiles*), was actually the victim of a brutal rape. Jules' sense of sympathy was activated and her annoyance toned down by this intelligence. Her judgment should not be so harsh, immediate, and foolhardy.

Jules walked to the lounge to spend her free time before she had to go to her individual session with Chris. She had been making a challenge for herself to find a book or activity available for the clients to entertain themselves with that wasn't entirely lame.

She picked-up a puzzle box. "You've got to be kidding me," she swore under her breath to herself. It was a 60 piece children's Mighty Morphine Power Rangers puzzle.

"I'll see your disbelief and raise you complete bewilderment," a man said approaching her with a puzzle box of his own.

Jules smiled and laughed. It was a 200 piece rendition of Richard Nixon. "I fold," Jules conceded.

"So, that was a pretty awesome meeting in there, eh?" The man sarcastically raised his eyebrows and indicated the he was in Jules' therapy group. "I haven't felt so in touch with my feelings since grade school guidance class." His smirk widened. "Certainly different from my life in the Army."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Jules agreed. "I went from totting an assault rifle a few days ago to eating metaphorical government cheese." She returned his smirk. "It's too bad I left my guitar at home. We could'a busted out a rousing round of Kumbya at the end there."

The man laughed at her dark wit and stretched out his non-presidentially occupied hand. "I'm Sean, by the way. Post Traumatically Stressed by Afghanistan."

Jules shook his hand. "Jules. Anthrax and a shrapnel shredded artery."

"Hmm, anthrax and a torn artery is all, huh. I thought it would be something more original, like getting shot," Sean joked.

"Not really that original, actually," Jules joked back. "I got shot 3 years ago." She shrugged. "Been there, done that and all that jazz. It's really not as thrilling as they make it seem in the movies."

"Damn, girl. No wonder you're freaken the Hell out," Sean chuckled.

"So, you here by choice or submission?" he asked.

"A little of both." Jules' sarcasm halted for a moment. "I realized I couldn't do this by myself, but it was my Sarge who made me go the in-patient route. Although, I gotta say, with thrilling entertainment like group effusion of emotion and cognitively challenging made for 8-year-olds puzzles, who could pass-up this party?" Her sarcasm could not be halted for long.

"Yeah, the Army's forcing me to be here, but, I gotta admit," Sean paused and tilted his head pointing down to the puzzle in his hand. "It's always been a dream of mine to assemble Richard Nixon's head."

Jules laughed. "Oh, and here I thought I was the only one who dreamed of that."

They shared a chuckle for a moment.

"So, Afghanistan, eh?" Jules continued. "My boyfriend did two tours there." She paused and got a thoughtful smirk on her face for a second.

"Jules, is there something you'd like to share with the rest of the class?" A faux admonishing look lit Sean's face.

"Oh, it's nothing just," she huffed at herself. "I don't think I've ever called him that before." She shook her head.

"Why do I feel like there's a story tied to that?"

"Well, you know, break'n regulations by having a secrete relationship until the cat was dumped on its ass out of the bag and the superiors granted special permission." She shrugged. "Same old story."

"Sniper, negotiator, 'roughing-up subjects,' breaking rules. You're a real bad-ass, Jules," Sean smiled.

"It's the way I roll." She smiled mischievously.

Jules' smile brightened as she looked over Sean's shoulder and saw Sam's approaching form.

"Listen, I gotta go. My boyfriend just came in," Jules said pointing her head towards Sam. "But, it's been great to meet you. I'm glad to find another kindred spirit who sees the complete absurdity of our mutual situations. We should, Like Totally, hang at coloring-book class together."

Sean chuckled. "It's a date. Maybe you can help me find the right color pallet for my Spiderman picture."

"You got it," Jules said as she began to walk towards Sam. "I've gotta use my SWAT training before it atrophies after all."

Sam reached her and wrapped her in a big hug. Jules had to admit that despite all the maladaptive chemicals coursing through her head, at least her situation was giving her a spike in oxytocin from all the extra hugs she was getting.

"This is a pleasant surprise. Don't you work anymore, Braddock?" Jules said as she released him.

"Sarge granted me license to get my Jules fix," he smiled and lifted her hand to give it a kiss.

_Of course,_ Jules thought. _Sarge sent Sam to check-up on me. _Oh, well. Any reason to have Sam two feet in front of her was fine by her.

"I thought we could grab some of that disgusting hospital cafeteria food you hate so much together." Sam lifted his eyebrows at her enticingly.

"Oh, Sam. You do know the way to my heart," Jules said in a sarcastic tone.

They began to walk towards the cafeteria.

"Hey, I've got a surprise for you!" Sam's face lit-up in excitement.

"What is it, a new straight jacket?(!)" Jules fakely perked-up.

"Nah, they didn't have any in your color," Sam played along.

Jules was glad he was accepting her extra snark.

"I got permission to take you out for dinner tomorrow." Sam grinned. "We're gonna meet the team and Wordy at The Goose."

"Great. I can show-off my new hospital smock."

Sam snorted a laugh and gave her another awkward half hug as they walked.

She was a little torn about the next night's plans. She was looking forward to seeing the rest of the team; however, she was a bit weary of how they might treat her. All in all, she was excited to be spending the evening with Sam.

She would just have to live through another night of impending panic to get there.

**Additional Author's Note**: So, what does everyone think of Sean? No, there's no love interest stuff tied to him; he and Jules are just wise-ass friends. I was originally going to call him Jack, but then I realized, this is Jules we're talking about here. The guy's name has to begin with an S. I hope you liked the Richard Nixon thing. As you might guess from this and my MMPR story, I have a slight obsession with the thought that Richard Millhouse Nixon is hilarious. Don't ask me why. I'm just special that way. Here's a hint for you faithful readers: although there is exorbitantly more humor in this piece, it will get darker than Mutiny of the Brain.

**Please** leave a review and tell me what you think of this chapter and the new character of Sean. I can always use your constructive criticism and encouragement.


	3. FootinMouth Disease

**Author's Note: **Hey strangers! Hope you're all well. So, thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing this story. I'm surprised no one's commented on the fact that Jules and apparently her therapist watch Firefly. Oh well, I'm so glad you guys like Jules' plutonic friend Sean. I have to say, coming up with conversations those two can have together is some of the most fun I've ever had writing. So, this chapter contains some really nerdy psy. stuff. Let me just go ahead and tell you about how Cognitive and Social Psychologists pretty much hate each other, because they basically have the same theories, but Cog uses though, and Social affect (and is also way cooler; seriously Cog is lame. Can you tell which one I am?).

I don't own Flashpoint, Mathew Christopher books, Power Rangers, Chia-pets, Glee, or Coke. (can I just say how when Lew asked for coke when he was playing a bad guy on Who's George, I totally thought he was asking Sam for a soda. . . don't ask).

Metaphysical Marathon

Chapter 3: Foot-in-Mouth Disease

"Sooo," Chris began.

"Sooo," Jules continued.

This therapy stuff was really working for her so far (!).

"Jules, what are we really doing here? You spent two sessions introducing yourself (and, BTW, I don't believe half of what you said), and describing your boyfriend's exercise ritual."

"Ahh, So?" Jules wasn't the expert on being the subject of excursions into her psyche.

"So, we're supposed to be talking about your flashbacks and panic attacks. Your current state of being. How you think and feel."

Arrgg. Jules really didn't like getting into her thoughts and feelings with a near stranger, but she would try her best.

"But, that's what I don't get," Jules told Chris. "I can completely see that what I'm thinking and feeling during the panic and flashbacks is completely irrational. I should be able to think through that to rational thought."

"It's not that easy." Chris smirked and began to laugh.

"Why are you laughing? Isn't 'Not Laughing at the Potentially Suicidal Nuts in This House' part of your mission statement?"

Chris gave one last snort, but continued to smile. "I thought we've been through this, Jules."

Jules looked confused. "How am I supposed to know what you're thinking if you don't communicate with me clearly?" She cringed. She was sure she had used those exact words in a negotiation at some point.

Chris seemed ready to answer. "You're HUMAN, Jules." He smiled. "I thought that realization is what brought you here. And," he began, a smirk returning to his face. "Nice negotiation, by the way."

Jules decided to ignore his comment on negotiation, and continued on. "Yes, emotion, affect, feeling is the first thing that rises within us." She paused, thinking her feelings out, ironically. At least she was having an intellectually stimulating debate for the first time in a few days. She was beginning to fear that her IQ would begin to loose points if she spent any more time reading Mathew Christopher books. "But, we can overcome those emotions and act on thought. That's what separates us from animals."

Chris seemed just as happy to be in a psychological, intellectual debate as Jules was, and he hadn't been spending his days building 8-year-olds' puzzles and making metaphorical macaroni art.

"That's true. The advent of Social Psychology came as a result of the fact that affect occurs before cognition. But, Cognitive Psychology theory, the predecessor to Social Psy., is all based on research in which people have over-ridden affect to reach cognitive thought."

Jules gave him a 'yeah, that's what I said, Captain Fantastic' look with hands held out and eyebrows raised.

Chris could see he needed to up his game and get to his point.

"But that's not always possible," Chris continued. "What makes us different from animals is that we have the capability to over-ride emotion with thought." Jules looked thoughtful at this. "Not to say that we're animals, but sometimes we ARE ruled by our emotion, affect, BECAUSE of the maladaptive set of our thinking."

"And our thinking comes from the neurotransmitters in our brains, at least in terms of neuron communication," Jules continued his thought, signaling that she was on the verge of her own. "But, if thought comes from the mind, how do the chemicals of the brain prevent the over-riding of emotion with thought?" Jules looked at Chris and closed her eyes and shook her head. "I realize this is all metaphysical theorizing and there's no real answer." She sighed and looked-up at him. "But, I just want you, in your opinion, to point me in the right direction to get over this."

"Jules." Chris sighed and looked somewhat abject. "It's not that simple. If a group of Social, Cognitive, and Neuro Psychologists could meet-up with a group of Metaphysicists and rap their way through this to come-up with concrete answers, we'd all be in Neverland."

"Michael Jackson or Peter Pan?" Jules interrupted in reference to his, well, reference. She had lost her ability to go more than five minutes without a sarcastic comment at some point in the past few days.

"Shut-it, wise-guy, and let me finish." Both Chris and Jules scoffed happily about the clear expression of their relationship.

"There is no end-all be-all answer, as I'm sure you know from your work as a negotiator." An encouraging smile rose to Chris's face. "It's different for everyone. You just have to be willing to work through that."

XXXXXX

Jules and Sean left their latest group therapy session together and proceeded towards the lounge.

"I don't know, Sean." Jules shook her head. "I don't think I'm getting much out of listening to Carly (with a 'C' (!)) wax poetically about her Yorkshire terriers for 45 minutes."

"Oh, come on Jules. Don't you feel supported?" Sean playfully smacked her shoulder. "Although." He became thoughtful. "By minute 41, I was about to chime-in with a touching story about my love for my Chia-pets, Elvis and Buddy."

Jules laughed at Sean's ridiculousness. She became (actually) thoughtful herself.

"To be honest, I don't think I get much out of the whole group therapy thing all together." She smirked and looked over at Sean in the eye. "I mean, it was all I could do to not look over at you during one of the awkward pauses when Carly wasn't talking about shedding habits and say, 'Sean, have you ever wanted to be a florist?'"

Sean grinned, but retained his chuckle. "I was hoping you'd never find-out about my deep, dark secrete ambition."

These two truly put the 'fun' in 'funny-farm.'

"But, Chris seems pretty cool." Jules paused her snarkiness for a moment. "Actually seems to know what he's talk'n about, ya know?"

"Yeah, he definitely doesn't seem to be sipping as much of the jungle-juice."

Jules snorted in reply.

As they reached the lounge, Jules spotted Sam waiting for her to take her on the field trip to The Goose. She guided Sean in Sam's direction so that she could introduce them.

"Sam," she called.

Sam's head perked-up and a smile lit his face at the sound of Jules' voice.

"Hey Sean, this is the BF, Sam. Sam, this is my nut-house buddy, Sean." She wasn't pulling any punches in these introductions.

"Nice to meet you, man," Sam smiled.

"Yeah, same here." Sean jerked his head. "I was hoping to meet the guy who could handle this tiny fire-ball of fury!" He raised his eyebrows and grinned like a loon.

Sam shook his head and laughed in agreement to Sean's description of Jules.

Jules palm-faced. She was going to have a serious dent in her forehead from all this smacking herself by the end of her excursion into mental ill-health.

"Uhh, yeah, so, Sam's taking me out for the evening." Jules shrugged. "I have to give my team-mates an art show of all my therapeutic pottery."

Sean gasped fakely. "Aww, you can't leave me alone here, Jules! There are crazy people!" His eyes grew wide and he lifted his eyebrows once more.

Jules stared by at him with a straight face. "You'll survive, soldier. Maybe you'll even get some ideas on how to survive the Zombie Apocalypse."

"You always see the bright side in things, Jules. No wonder you're such a bad-ass negotiator."

Jules flinched slightly at his joke.

"It's alright, though," Sean began on another track. "I finished Dick Nixon yesterday, so I can do the Power Rangers one today."

Sam looked confused at this line of conversation.

Sean paused and continued his thought with a straight face. "The Pink Ranger's hot."

Jules chuckled. "You pedophile. They're teenagers with attitudes."

Sean returned her laugh. "Hey, if any of those kids were actually teenagers, I'll eat my metaphorical cheese hat."

Jules and Sean shared a giggle while Sam looked on. _These two sure have bizarre humor, _he thought.

"Well, we better get go'n," Jules began. "I'll see you in sock puppet therapy tomorrow."

"OOwww, I'll save you Mr. Chuckles (!)," Sean grinned at Sam and Jules retreating form.

XXXXXX

Sam and Jules paused in Sam's parked car before getting out to enter The Goose.

Jules sighed.

"It's gonna be alright, Jules." Sam took her hand. "No one's gonna treat you any differently, and I'll be right by your side."

"Strangely and redundantly, that doesn't sound as comforting as it sounds." Jules gave him a weary look.

Sam leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek. "You'll be fine." When she didn't look-up, he continued. "Remember, I love you."

Her resulting smile filled his heart with glee.

As they walked into the bar, they immediately saw the team and Wordy all already seated at their usual table. At the site of Sam and Jules, Spike jumped-up and to run and give Jules a huge hug. He actually picked her up.

"Jules!" Spike shouted as he put her down.

Jules caught her breath for a second after the cessation of Spike's crushing hug, but it was only for that one second; Greg grabbed her and repeated Spike's actions. She wondered if she could OD on oxytocin.

"Good ta see you, Jules," Greg said into her shoulder.

"Sarge. Air," was Jules' simple reply.

The rest of the team merely patted her on the back in greeting, seeing that she probably couldn't handle another literally breathe taking hug.

They all sat back down in their seats and a waitress approached.

"Hey Sam, Jules. What can I get ya guys tonight?"

Jules ordered a Coke. She was afraid of what she might unconsciously do if she gave-up her mental control to the incapacities of alcohol. Sam ordered the same in solidarity. He placed his hand on her knee supportively, where it would presumably stay the entire night out.

"So, Jules, how ya do'n?" Spike asked brightly.

"Spike, I currently live in a mental hospital full-time. How the Hell do you think I'm do'n?" Jules voiced, but at the dejected look on Spike's face, continued with sarcasm, "Just dandy! I'm learn'n all about third grade art and the chew toy habits of Yorkshire terriers!" Her faux brightness told the team everything. They collectively thought that at least she was cracking jokes again.

"Hey, she met a Dude with similar humor to her named Sean," Sam helpfully supplied.

"Hmm, Sean, huh? Starting anymore sordid love affairs?" Spike's foot loved to live in his mouth.

Sam and Jules simultaneously shot him disbelieving, 'you uncouth imbecile' looks. Ed and Greg chuckled at their synchronicity.

"Yeah, Spike. I'm gonna cheat on Sam with a guy I met at the loony-bin." Her raised eyebrow silenced any more of his commentary.

"I'm not threatened at all," Sam piped-up. "You should meet this guy. When he and Jules were talking, I thought I had wondered my way into a Smart-Alec convention."

"Oh, Sam." Jules stared at him. "You know you have to pay admission for that."

Sam scuffed at her and continued his thought. "Anyway, if Jules ever got together with him, it'd be like marrying herself."

Jules paused and raised an eyebrow in thought before getting an 'aw-shucks' look and shrugging.

"Pfffftttt," Raf snorted. "They already did that on Glee."

Everyone immediately stared at Raf with looks of bewilderment. Raf watches Glee?

Ed changed the direction of this conversation. "What's up with you and guys with S names Jules?"

"Hey, that's not my only criterion for making friends. They also have to be hot." Jules grinned for a beat as a self-satisfied smile rose to Sam's face. "Well, except for Sam here, of course." The men all guffawed as Sam's face fell. Jules squeezed his hand to signal her jest.

"So," Wordy looked for a new, less awkward place to put the conversation. "Do anything interesting, Jules?"

Yeah, that'll work.

"I won an 'escape the straight jacket' race." Jules smiled and widened her eyes. "It's kind-a like a rifle assembling race, but in reverse and with crazy people."

Greg scuffed at her humor. "Yeah, and she can make a killer hand-turkey!" he played along. He knew that making a joke out of her situation helped her deal with it better. He would do whatever he could to help her through this rough patch.

"Well, we hope you get back soon," Spike voiced, his foot now firmly planted on the floor. "Sarge is missing his work wife." Annnnnndd, now the foot is back home in his mouth.

"Does that make Raf Ed's work wife?" Jules quipped.

Ed and Raf stared at each other before scooting their chairs away from each other.

"Hey, at least their work wives are actual people instead of inanimate robots," Sam joked.

"I DO miss my work wife," Greg pouted in jest.

"And, this conversation is going nowhere, agonizingly slowly." Jules rose from her chair, Sam's hand temporarily leaving her knee. "I'm gonna go use the washroom. So, it'll give ya some time to talk about me behind my back."

"Hey, we wouldn't do that!" Wordy shouted to her retreating form. "So, is it just me, or has Jules' sarcasm heightened exorbitantly?" Wordy asked, proceeding to do just that.

"Yeah, it has," Greg supplied. "But give her a break. She's using whatever methods she can to work through this." He stared at all the past and present men of Team One with a commanding gaze. "And we all need to make sure we're as supportive as we can be."

"We got it, Boss. We're all here for her," Spike responded to the admonishing order.

When Jules returned, Raf suggested an intense game of darts. All the men save Sam and Wordy rose. Sam looked at Jules in request to join the group.

"Go ahead, Sam. I'm not stable enough to be around pointy objects or projectiles. Wordy and I can have some quality time."

"Okay, sweetheart." Sam leaned in to kiss her cheek before rising to join the team. Jules could hear the men distantly ribbing Sam for calling 'Jules the Bad-Ass' 'sweetheart.'

Wordy smiled at Jules. "You know, you two are adorable together. I'm glad that all worked out."

"Yeah." Jules smiled in Sam's direction. "He's totally the cheese to my macaroni." What's with all the cheese in her current life's story?

"So, Wordy," she began, moving to sit next to him. "How's life in Gun's 'n Gangs?"

Wordy smiled sadly. "I miss you guys dearly, but it's nice to have a more normal schedule where I can spend more time with Shelly and the girls." His smile brightened; his love for his family exuded from every pore in his being.

"So, life beyond the SRU's pretty good for you?" Jules asked in actual wonder.

Wordy became pensive. "Jules, is there something you're trying to tell me?"

Jules briefly smiled and jerked her head. "Just keeping my options open."

Wordy placed a hand on her shoulder with a knowing look. "I'm here for you if you need anything, Jules. And that means anything." He leaned over to give her a hug.

"Thanks, Wordy."

She thought about how blessed she was to have such loving friends, even if some of them tended to have foot-in-mouth disease. She just hoped she could make it through this to return their love when she was of a sound mind.

**Author's Additional Note: **So, I named Sean's imaginary Chia-pets after Sules' and my dogs, Elvis and Buddy. Yay, Buddy. You made the internet! Did the whole philosophical debate Jules and Chris had make sense? I hope so. Oh, and I couldn't just let the MMPR and Nixon puzzles go without another nod to them. Sean thinks the Pink Ranger's hot. Hahhaaaha.

Please leave a review and let me know what you think of this chapter and story. Your encouragement and constructive criticism is always a plus.

Thanks for reading

Peace-out,

Eals


	4. Shattered

**Author's Note:** Thanks to everyone who has been reading, reviewing, and placing this story on favorites! I'm so glad that so many people are enjoying it and appreciate this excursion into the exploration of PTSD. Can I just say about Body-Glide: many people came up to us on the cross country team when the movie Juno came out and asked us if we really put deodorant on our inner thighs. Dude, it was Body-Glide, an anti-chafing stick. Runners DO NOT put deodorant on their inner thighs. Seriously, who would do that?

I don't own or have rights to Girl Interrupted, the song "Downtown," Glee, Body-Glide, Degrassi, or Rug-Rats.

Metaphysical Marathon

Chapter 4: Shattered

It had been another long night.

The fear of impending panic and what might happen when she closed her eyes to succumb to sleep had kept Jules on edge. Although the panic never actually rose to its deathly fevered pitch, terror found an alternate route to torture her. When she could no longer fight her eye-lids to remain in if not beta, but alpha wave drowsiness, she surrendered to a sleep encompassed by nightmares. She never remembered them, but always awoke in a cold sweat and with lingering dread.

It was almost like the time spent with Sam and the team had only worked to enhance her night-time fright by leaps and bounds. The feeling of Sam's absence had heightened when his existence became no longer tangible, but theoretical to her once more. She didn't think of herself as an Empiricist, but that's what she had become. Could Sam exist, actually be 'there for her' if she couldn't see him, touch him, if his hand no longer rested on her knee? How could she be aware of his state of being, his existence, without his presence?

Damn metaphysics again.

And so the night had been long, and she now sat in the lounge with a dazed look on her face as she contemplated the essence of reality, her current reality, which didn't seem like there was enough indestructible energy in the universe of which to fuel its terror.

"Hey, Jules," a now familiar male voice awoke her from her abstraction. "What'ya do'n?"

She flicked her eyes up to meet Sean's face, but kept her head perfectly still during her retort. "Write'n poems in my head.  
>"Hmm, Limericks or Sonnets?" Sean asked playfully.<p>

"Actually, those Japanese ones that sound like a sneeze." A sardonic grin betrayed her true intent and participation in this game.

"Oh, so culturally diverse," Sean began. "No wonder they made you team leader of emotionally expressive diorama class." He took a good look at her heavy, dark circle laden eyes. "Rough night? The resounding sounds of Angelina Jolie and Winona Ryder singing 'Downtown' keep you up again?"

"Well, I am a girl Interrupted. . ." Jules smiled. At least with Sean's presence, the day had officially been born anew and she no longer had to worry about night stalkers. Her smile dimed. At least not for another 15 or 16 hours. . . and that didn't account for the phenomena which could stalk by day.

"Just didn't get much sleep," Jules finally answered his question.

A knowing, sympathetic look rose to Sean's face. He looked like he was in danger of actually saying something comforting. "That's okay. Sleep's over-rated. It's reserved for panty-waists like politicians and people who watch Glee."

Jules laughed, thinking of Raf's inadvertent confession of the night before.

"So, you want to blow this rock'n joint," he said indicating the nearly empty lounge where the only activity occurring was two women knitting under the close supervision of a burly orderly. After all, knitting needles could be deadly. "And head to the cafeteria for some nearly inedible disgusting food that they wouldn't feed to Ted Bundy? My treat; I'll put it on my imaginary tab, which I pay for with my library card." He smiled at her enticingly and offered a hand to help her up.

"How can I say no to be'n treated like an entity lower on the food chain than Ted Bundy?" Jules said as she rose and began to walk with Sean.

"So, how'd the excursion into the wilds of reality go last night? Ya didn't get chafed by your straight jacket, did you?"

"No, I wore some Body-Glide left over from the marathon I ran on the treadmill yesterday." Jules smiled sadly. "It was great to see the guys, but I still felt like the animal no one was supposed to feed or tease."

"But, I'm sure they gave into temptation and still threw some ironic animal crackers at you."

"Yeah," Jules smiled. "Hey, did'ya notice the monkey's the only one who gets to wear pants?"

"I guess he can live in a glass house then," Sean joked before continuing in a different direction. "I know you probably really miss your friends, but how 'bout we hang-out tonight? I hear Carly (with a 'C' (!)*Sean fake smiles*) has some contraband Degrassi: The Next Generation DVD's (!)." He flicked his eyebrows.

"Niiiicccceee, maybe we can trade our cigarette ration with her to barrow them for a night (!)" Jules suggested with false enthusiasm as they entered the cafeteria. "I've gotta say, I've never in my wildest dreams predicted that I'd be lucky enough to live in a place where Degrassi constitutes potentially offensive and dangerous material."

"Yeah, the stars do shine on you, Callaghan," Sean quipped as he handed Jules a tray.

"So, 'institutional eggs' or 'incarceration corn bread' this morn'n?" Sean asked giving the meal options colorful, yet accurate descriptive names.

"Well, I do love eggs with the consistency of a runny-nose. . ." Jules became thoughtful. "But, my stomachs a little on the rocks today, so I'll have to go with the brick 'o bread."

As they walked towards a table with their nearly inedible objects, another client accidentally bumped Sean's shoulder and dropped his tray containing, among other things, a glass ketchup bottle. The glass shattered and red liquid painted the dining room floor. At impact, Jules' mind shattered into the million tiny fragments of a disturbed and altered reality.

She was back in the lab. The air was thick and murky with smoke and the disbursed spores of anthrax once more. There was blood everywhere. Her blood. She was dying again.

Caught in another mental mine-field, she was once more rendered unable to act.

Sean swiftly took charge.

"Jules? You hear me?" He saw the ketchup spread on the floor and could only guess where her mind had taken her. He grabbed her arms and began to lead her away from the condiment carnage and back into the hallway. He wrapped an arm around her and tried to get her to respond to him.

"It's okay, Jules. There's no more blood. You're safe. You're here with me now." His reassurances seemed to be starting to break through to her.

She closed her eyes and shook her head, willing herself out of the lab, the pain in her arm, the pain in Sam's face from behind the glass door.

"I'm sorry about that." Apologizing for not being perfect. Jules was always apologizing for her imperfections.

"It's alright, Jules," Sean said with a knowledgeable grin. His arm still held her shoulders in support. "Not like I don't spend a lot'a time in the Lah-Lah Land from Hell myself." Jules looked up at him. "Don't even get me started on ceiling fans and sand boxes."

"Sand boxes?" Jules raised an eyebrow.

"Don't ask. I'm a complicated man." He smiled and repositioned himself to place both hands on her shoulders. "At least your triggers are cool, like exploding condiments. My stuff is as lame as hang'n out at a three-year-olds' congregation point. I'll never be able to watch Rug-Rats again."

"You'd think they wouldn't even have glass bottles in a place like this, what with all us unstable loons." Jules again tried to pass things off as a joke. "Oh, sorry 'bout interrupt'n your sub-par prison food breakfast.  
>"That's okay," Sean smirked. "I probably would have thrown it up anyway."<p>

A mock admonishing look lit Jules' face. "Sean, are you try'n to tell me you're bulimic, cause that part-a the rehab center is on the second floor."

"Geeze, Callaghan, if you learn any more of my deepest, darkest secrets, you're gonna become me," he sighed dejectedly.

"Does that mean I'll have to wear your tight-ass jeans?" Jules quipped.

"Only if you don't stretch 'em out like ya did my dress I leant you last time."

They fell into companionable laughter, the storm now having passed.

"Ahhh, great!" Jules swore. "Chris is gonna have a field day with this."

A mischievous grin lit Sean's face. "Can I bring pop-corn and watch? This'll be better than Carly with a C's Degrassi DVD's!"

XXXXXX

It didn't take long for the information about Jules' ketchup induced flashback to spread back to the therapists. Chris was armed and ready for the discussion of it at their individual meeting later that day.

"So, another flashback, eh? And from the looks of things, you didn't have a very good night either." He smiled warmly. "You want to talk about it?"

"I have a feeling my opinion on the matter is moot," Jules responded with a straight face.

"Yes, well, we're all here for a reason. Mine is to annoy you with questions about what brings you here." Chris's look of encouragement expressed that he expected her to begin this conversation.

Jules sighed. "Yeah, last night was rough. Every night is pretty much rough. I just ran out of pancake make-up to cover it up."

"Yes, I'm sure that's exactly the case," Chris used sarcasm to highlight the fact that he knew her previous night had been even worse than normal. "And this morning?"

"This morn'n I got an all-expenses paid trip down the memory lane of Hell." She paused, not willing to contribute any more.

"Look Jules, you and I both know the over-all purpose of your stay here is to help you get over your condition, but that doesn't mean you can't learn certain techniques and coping mechanisms to help you through the rough spots."

Jules raised her eyebrows. "Such as. . ."

Chris loosened-up a little, indicating he was on the verge of some physical pedagogy.

"Such as when you're having a panic attack or merely feel one coming on. There's a certain technique you can use."

Jules got the feeling this conversation was about to take a crack-pot turn.

"To start off, you repeat this phrase: 'despite this anxiety, I am still a person of worth,'" Chris began.

_Oh, Lord. Seriously? _Jules thought.

"Then, you tap a series of pressure points on your face, each time reciting 'this anxiety,'" Chris began to demonstrate. He tapped a series of five points on his face, collectively forming some bizarre facial sign of The Cross. And each time, he uttered 'this anxiety.'

_You've got to be Freak'n kidding me. People seriously go to school for this kind of malarkey?_

"Whoa, whoa, Chris. Let's take a second here," Jules pleaded, beginning to negotiate him again. There was no way in HELL she was going to combat panic attacks by walking around smacking herself in the face and reciting a catch phrase. Especially not THAT catch phrase. "Just say'n," Jules began with her own personal catch phrase. "Can't I just listen to music or say the Rosary or something'?" Her face was now desperate.

"I wasn't aware you were Catholic," Chris mused.

"I'm a lapsed Catholic. I think I can remember the drill."

"'Lapsed Catholic.' That sounds like the name of a punk rock band." Chris smirked. "But, yes. The Rosary does put one in a kind of meditative state. The Catholics really did have something going there. But," he paused. "I suggest you try this technique as well."

"You can't seriously tell me that you went to school to learn that kind-of pseudo-scientific crap," Jules voiced her thoughts.

"I assure you, though it may look silly," _and pointless_, Jules thought, "this is a reputable and research supported method to fight anxiety attacks."

"Are all psychologists this bloody crazy? I mean, there've gotta be a large chunk of you guys who got into the field to figure their own selves out."

Chris sighed. "Different people get into it for different reasons. Yes, some just want to figure themselves or family members out." He paused to smile at her. "I, on the other hand, got in it to help people." A mischievous look formed on his face. He appeared to be preparing to turn the tables on her. "What about you, Jules? What drove you to your specific profession in psychology?"

"Hey, first off, I was refer'n to clinical psychologists and shrinks. And second," she was merely playfully defensive now. "I was just a humble sniper 'til the cocky vet with a silver spoon in his mouth swooped in and stole my titular spot on the team. Arrogant jerk," she scuffed.

Chris looked curious. "Which member of the team was that?"

"Sam," she shrugged.

Chris's curiosity turned to a frown. "That's it! The moment you start to take things seriously, I'm moving you to a padded cell in the state mental hospital, because you'll have obviously lost your mind."

It was good to know her therapist knew her so well. Although she would definitely NOT be using his proposed anti-anxiety technique, she was glad to have him and Sean as allies in her battle to return to normality.

**Author's Additional Note:** So, that whole anti-anxiety technique is actually real. You CANNOT make this crap up, people. Jules' reaction and dialogue were pretty much verbatim my reactions and words when I was instructed to use it. I imagine she'd react the same way. Except for the lapsed Catholic part. I'm still quite the RC. For a period of time on his Facebook page, my Bro had something like "I always thought lapsed Catholic would make a good name for a punk band," or something to that affect. Couldn't pass-up that line, especially since I imagine that Jules is a lapsed Irish Catholic. Just my imagination, think what you want. It will come into play a little later. Oh, and who caught the Hugh Dillon reference?

**Please leave a review** and let me know what you think of this chapter and this story. Wasn't Sean just great helping her through the flashback?

Thanks for reading,

Eals


	5. Verbal KungFu and Deflection

**Author's Note:** As always, I am eternally grateful to all who have been reviewing, placing on alerts and favorites, and of course, reading this story. You guys always light-up my day! So, **Molly Lyn** pointed out that I had a bit of a cultural goof in the last chapter. I wrote about a state mental institution in one of the jokes, while in reality, Canadians have no such thing (although, according to **Molly Lyn,** there is an equivalent, but it's "not as catchy"; hahhaha! As if state mental hospital is catchy!). Also, the equivalent isn't funded by their central government, but rather provinces, so the whole central government State doesn't fit in either (PS: I'm still laughing at "WhoWaaahh, I'm not paying for that crap!" Stupid federal mandates!). Therefore, a state mental hospital run by the government of Canada isn't a. . . thing. Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, I'm a moron. The ones in America are few and under-funded now-a-days anyhow, thanks to Congressional interference in things they don't understand in the '70's. They're so underfunded that many of them are in disrepair and loaned out for (YOU CAN'T MAKE THIS STUFF UP) college cross country courses; it's rather disconcerting when you arrive at a course and the first official thing you hear is: "No matter what, don't go in the buildings." Also, thanks to **PSU93Girl** for pointing out that I didn't fully explain the whole genetics-suicide thing. I was being completely intellectually lazy and didn't feel like going on a pedantic spiel before and was going to write about it in an author's note until I realized, hey, I'll just have Jules and Chris explain it in a discussion I was already going to have them have! Also, someone finally caught my Buffy references; Congrats to **JayJe**! Spot-on, my friend! Yeah, I totally got that stuff from Buffy! People, I've told you, I have entire scenes and episodes memorized. . . So, as you can see, reviews are priceless! (Sorry about the long note; needed to get these credits out.)

**Warning**: There is a discussion of suicide/self-harm in this chapter, so, if you are not comfortable with that, ya may want to skip this chapter.

I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint or Firefly.

Metaphysical Marathon

Chapter 5: Verbal Kung-Fu and Deflection

It had been nearly a week in the rehab facility, and Jules still didn't feel like she was getting anywhere. She was simply spinning her wheels in the mud of PTSD symptoms.

Another panic attack and subsequent nightmares had marred her night.

This one was bad.

She had felt like her head was exploding and she seriously questioned reality to the point that she wondered if she had died and was now in the 10th Circle of Hell. She didn't know what egregious sin she had committed to find herself there, but she prayed it would only last on this side of eternity.

This too shall pass.

And so, it had been nearly one week, and all she had to show for it was a deeper understanding of her ability to philosophize about things that were completely inconsequential four months ago. Before the lab. Before the world turned up-side down. Before reality split down the seams like a pair of Malcolm Reynolds' Captain tight pants. Back when she was still worthy of being the Law Enforcement Professional of the Year.

She now sat next to Sean in another pointless group therapy session. Carly with a 'C' had again monopolized the conversation and was waxing on, waxing off effulgently about some touchy-feely gushy thing her father had done for her when she was three. How could she remember this crap? And, for that matter, who cares?

Jules wanted to stick her finger in her eye and give it a good twirl.

Carly moved to another subject.

"Why don't we ever hear from the tactical side of the room?" Carly pointed and called out Sean and Jules.

Sean leaned into Jules. "Did she just group us together as one entity?"

"Hmmph," Jules scuffed. "Next she's gonna give us a shipper name, like, JEAN, or, something. . ."

Sean flinched in mock disgust. "Jules, that either sounds disgusting or French, and I don't know which disturbs me more."

"I just don't think you understand my brilliance," Jules shot back.

"Carly has a point," the therapist cut into their whispered side-bar discussion. "We never get to hear Sean and Jules' thoughts and feelings."

_Maybe that's because Carly (with a 'C' (!)) swallows the entire conversation, and group for that matter, with her big mouth_, Jules thought.

The therapist smiled at them, signaling for them to talk about something completely immaterial to their quest to regain normality.

Sean shot Jules an 'I'm not talking; you take the reins, sweet-cheeks' look.

Jules wanted to smack her forehead again. She contemplated using Chris's anti-anxiety technique to see if it would have her declared legally insane and placed in a padded cell, and out of this conversation. She'd never wanted to talk less in her life. And she was freak'n paid to talk. She silently cursed Sean for his cowardly big puppy dog eye routine, which had her wrapped around his metaphorical, sweet little leprechaun finger.

She blew out a breath. "I don't know what to say. I don't know how to cure people. I just get them out of the worst moment of their lives." She cringed. _And not very well anymore_, she thought.

"No one's asking you to cure anyone, not even yourself," the therapist began. "We're here to talk about how YOU think and feel about your situation."

Sean smirked at Jules. Boy, did she dig a hole for herself. She wanted to crawl into it and start communing with the warms.

"I think and feel that it's personal." There we are! Perfect response! 'It's personal' may be a cop-out, but it's the best damn cop-out our deprived society has ever invented. She was golden.

Sean sent her a 'you just threw me under the bus, and now I'm painting the town red with my guts' expression. Jules shrugged at him and smiled.

Curly scuffed from across the room.

"We respect that, Jules," the therapist acknowledged.

Swish! Callaghan 3, Seany-O zip. She flicked her eyebrows at him, daring him to weasel his way out as well.

"I'm just not comfortable with public speaking." Sean paused to grin evilly at Jules with the side of his face that was unseen to the rest of the group. "It gives me anxiety."

This verbal, dodging one-ups-manship was becoming an interesting past-time. Who needs hockey?

Sean and Jules lived to fight another day in their quest to remain silent in the presence of Carly with a 'C.'

When the session ended, Sean and Jules quickly rushed out of the room to avoid any one-on-one discussion with the therapist.

"Nice moves in there, Callaghan. You bobbed and weaved like Jump'n Joe Frasier. Wish I had that kind-a SWAT training." Sean lightly punched Jules' shoulder.

"Phhffft. What'ya talk'n about, Sensei? I was a wee grasshopper to your Kung-Fu." Jules lightly punched him back. He feigned hurt. "I wish I had a pen to take notes, but its contraband material. I might stab myself, or give myself ink-poisoning."

"I took a seminar online," Sean smiled haughtily. "I've got some time to burn now. Hey, you want to go finger painting with me? I need to make my mom a picture to put up on the refrigerator." His eyes grew wide with faux excitement.

Jules sighed. "Love to. I need to make Sarge a masterpiece to go under his sweat-socks in his locker, but I gotta date with a distinguished old guy who likes to fondle my brain," she colorfully referred to Chris.

Sean placed the back of his hand on his forehead in mock Shakespearian fashion. "Go. Alas! I will never be good enough to fondle your brain!"

Jules patted his shoulder and chuckled as she turned to head to her meeting with Chris.

XXXXX

Jules sat in her now familiar position angled, yet still across, from Chris. He looked thoughtful, like he was about to dive into something major. Jules dreaded these types of conversations.

"So," Chris began with a warm smile. "You've been here almost a full business week. How you feeling about how you're doing?"

Jules sighed. He was using a Sarge tactic of trying to ease her into a subject. Yet, she guessed he HAD to ask these kinds of questions. But, from the look on his face, he was killing two birds with one stone. Damn her profiling mind (!).

"It's been alright, all things considered." She shuddered, thinking about the entirely pointless group therapy sessions. "I've been hang'n out with Sean, who seems pretty sweet." She smiled at the thought of her new ally on the witticism front.

Chris looked confused. "Sean O'Brian?" he asked in disbelief.

Now Jules was confused. "Ah, yeah. What's with your reaction?"

Chris quickly changed his features. "Nothing, just," he chuckled, "I wouldn't think he'd be hanging out with a wise-guy like you."

Jules was even more confused. "We talk'n about the same guy?"

Chris smiled, seeming to reach his own form of enlightenment of the subject, which he would not completely share with Jules. "Yes we are. He has been getting lighter lately." Chris smiled once more, directing it completely at Jules.

She figured she wasn't going to weasel any information out of Chris on the subject of Sean, so she waited for him to drive the conversation towards the destination he desired.

Chris remained silent while he stared at her with another warm smile.

She couldn't take this intellectual foreplay anymore. "Get to the point, Doc," she ordered as if she were speaking to an incorporative witness.

Chris leaned forward, his chin now resting in his hands. "It appears we haven't talked about the elephant in the room all week."

"Hmmphhh," Jules scuffed. "That's not an elephant!" She paused, became thoughtful. "That's at least a blue whale . . . maybe a brachiosaurus in the room." She shrugged. "One needs water."

Chris rubbed his face deeply at her remark. "Okay. Hmmphh. The point," he paused and got a knowing smile on his face. "The point is, we haven't addressed this subject, mostly because I haven't wanted to provoke you."

Jules rolled her eyes. "Chris, I don't know if you've noticed, but, they took my MP5 away."

A lame, eyebrow raised smirk rose to his face. "You know that's not what I mean."

"Yes, but it's oh so fun to play with ya."

Chris decided to take charge.

"Jules, have you ever thought about hurting yourself or killing yourself?" he asked point-blank.

"Geeze, Chris, aren't we supposed to intellectually snuggle first?" Jules responded to his bluntness. She thought how this was sad. If the tables had been turned, she would have been the blunt one.

"Jules." Chris wasn't playing games. "We have your full history; I know about your mother."

Jules silently scuffed. "Ya know, everyone's make'n this big deal about my 'genetic predisposition,' while what you're talk'n 'bout is a behavior. Behavior isn't genetic." She was growing angry now. She saw where her and Chris's professions intersected; he was about to try to calm, slow her down.

"That's right. Behavior isn't genetic, but." He paused with an intellectual debate smile on his face. "There are certain factors that are genetic, which can influence behavior. The closer they fit, the greater the risk." Chris stopped to change his position to sit straight up. "Do you want me to go into the Nurture side of the Nature-Nurture debate?"

"No, I got that, thanks," Jules shot back.

"You're expressing certain of these factors," Chris pressed on. He wasn't going to pussy-foot Jules anymore on this. "But, it's ultimately about the individual person. So, have you ever thought about hurting yourself?"

Jules looked him straight in the eye. "Remember the whole lapsed Catholic thing? I still have a deeply ingrained fear of Hell. Great Gran Callaghan came right over from outside'a Limerick. It's still there," she said referring to her knowledge and fear of the mortal sin of Catholicism.

"That's a deflection," Chris shot back. "Have you thought about it?"

Jules shook her head. "I would never, ever do anything, consciously, to hurt myself, but." She couldn't continue.

The air in the room seemed to grow dense.

"But. . ." Chris prompted.

"But, I don't trust myself sub-consciously. I don't trust myself to NOT do something stupid."

"There's more," Chris prodded.

"What?" Jules knew what; she was just too used to acting a part that she played a character of ignorance.

"What aren't you telling me?" Chris was forceful, yet comforting at the same time.

"Sometimes." Jules really hated this stuff. Really didn't want to share her innermost thoughts, things she hadn't shared with Sarge, things she hadn't shared with Sam. "Sometimes I see myself die, whether it's in the lab or otherwise, and I think." She sighed and looked out the window at the late summer, early autumn changing trees.

She froze in her reverie about the vegetation's change.

"And you think," Chris prodded once more.

"And, I think what a relief it would be, to me and everyone else." She looked solemn at her admission.

"That's alright," Chris began. "You haven't done anything, haven't plotted anything." He paused to reach for one of her hands in comfort for the first time. "You're just in the suicidal thinking stage. I'm glad you told me." He smirked. "Even a bad-ass needs help sometimes, but," he willed her to look at him, "you can't keep a badass down for long."

**Additional Note:** Gyhaa! Getting dark. I need a flashlight and my plush Superman to hug. Just remember, Jules is the ultimate hero of this story. I must credit **Playergurl89** for the 'you can't keep a bad-ass down for long' line. She said it in a PM in response to a comment I made about use having a sickness for abusing Jules.

**Please leave a review** to let me know what you think of this chapter and overall story. As you can see, your input is priceless! Thanks for reading!

Happy Holy Week (well, there's an oxymoron),

Eals


	6. Bunnies and Other Fear Inspiring Things

**Author's Note:** Yo! Hope all is well! So, thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing this story. I'm glad you guys are finding it both entertaining and cognitively engaging. I aim to please. This chapter turned out to be longer than I thought it would be, so I decided to end it on this event so as to not overwhelm the reader and rush things. Also, I have to go on another run where I come up with funny lines and grin like someone who's been poisoned by the Joker's deadly laughing gas; I think my neighbors are about to have ME committed. Oh, and Nixon was known for being paranoid, hence the recordings of his office and meetings, which ultimately turned out to bite him in the ass. Paranoia kills political careers. . .

I don't own or have rights to (phewww, this is gonna be long) Flashpoint, Twilight, Joss Whedon's Once More With Feeling (BtVS), Ironman Triathlon, the Paula Dean Show(s), An Affair to Remember (any version, or the remakes titled "Love Story"), Vaseline, Second City, or Barbie. I don't even think I still own my Baywatch Barbie and Ken. . . Don't ask. . .

Metaphysical Marathon

Chapter 6: Bunnies and Other Fear Inspiring Things

Two days had passed since Jules' confessions of unconscious desires to Chris. Since then, she had seen a noticeable difference in how the staff members of the facility had been treating her. It was almost as if she was being treated with even softer kid-gloves; she was a porcelain doll with cracks to mend, delicate, breakable. She was almost certain there was a sentry posted to watch her every waking, and she presumed, sleeping, moment.

Maybe she was just becoming paranoid. She would be in good company assembling that Richard Nixon puzzle.

In a way, she felt less intruded-upon and undignified, and more free with this more diligent watch. She no longer had to waste valuable and limited cognitive resources, energy, and assets to keep close watch on her every thought and feeling. Unconscious automatic negative thoughts could intrude, but she would not have to diligently over-ride their influence.

At least, she hoped that was the case.

She was now in the fitness center of the facility running on the treadmill. 'The Program' put great stock in the therapeutic values of physical exertion. She just didn't want to lose her hard earned athletic edge.

Sean was on the treadmill next to her. They had made a bet for who would get to use 'Mr. Chuckles' in 'sock-puppet therapy' for the first person to run 10 miles. Jules was now running an 'easy' 6:30 mile pace. She figured she could jack-up the speed if Sean was still hanging close to her around the 8 mile mark. Sean was keeping pace with her so far, matching her every acceleration. The fact that they were racing for a non-existent entity in a non-existent activity seemed to have no bearing on their competitive natures.

Jules intermittedly smiled to herself. She often had these kinds of athletic challenges, with fruitless rewards, with the younger members of Team One. Spike may always be a hopeless push-over, but Raf and Sam always gave her a run for her money. Well, there was that one time Spike had evenly matched her in a foot race. She didn't want to think about how it was the week after she had nearly bleed to death and had her lungs poisoned by anthrax spores. She shuddered momentarily to herself.

She and Sean bantered and traded trash talk back and forth in fairly consistent intervals while also adding colorful commentary to the completely lame network television animal documentary that they were permitted to watch on the television hanging in front of them. This particular special was on bats.

"Man, I'm surprised they let us watch this bat show," Jules began, comfortable enough in her pace to not have trouble having a conversation while she ran. "The mere mention of vampire bats could send me into terror stricken panic with its association to Edward and Bella."

"Yeah, well, at least it's not another special on bunnies," Sean responded turning his head to show a frantic look in his eyes. "With those beady eyes and twitchy little noses, I had waking nightmares the whole day after that."

"Yeah, those creepy bunnies." Jules refrained from laughing about Sean's fake bunny phobia for fear it would make her have to drop her pace and subsequently lower her chances of winning Mr. Chuckles for the evening. "What's with all those carrots? What do they need such good eye-sight for anyway?"

"To haunt you in your sleep, that's what!" Sean exclaimed before turning his attention back to the T.V. screen. A true look of panic struck his face. He slowed the treadmill speed and hopped up to straddle the tread.

Jules noticed his actions and became confused. "What's up, O'Brian? Need to go tape your nipples?"

"Nah, Callaghan. I'm just not as much of an Ironman as you." He looked to be working hard to control his features. "Need'a get some water."

Jules shook her head in disbelief of his excuse and turned her own attention back to the television screen. She did a double-take. "Raf?" The animal special had been preempted by breaking news.

". . . live here at City Hall, where members of the elite Strategic Response Unit are working to find and subdue the –"

The reporter was cut-off as one of the facility staff-members changed the channel.

"Hey! What'ya do'n? That was my team!" Jules exclaimed, worry igniting her voice. Team One had not had good luck at City Hall. SHE had not had good luck at City Hall. Although the memory of that day somehow did not send her into fits of anxiety or catatonia, she knew it would still be hard for her to return to a call on that site. It would be hard for the whole team. She wondered how Sam and Ed were holding-up in particular as they all now returned to that place, which held such angst-y memories, with their assault rifles once more.

"Sorry. We can't allow clients to watch the news. Against policy." The orderlies here never gave-way.

Jules swore under her breathe. This was the first time she had seen, even for a brief moment, her team mates in full uniform and in action for a week. Although she doubted she would ever return to their ranks, she still had a strong bond with them and worried for their safety. She wished she could be in the truck with Sarge or Spike to monitor their progress.

Sarge. Poor Sarge. A wave of guilt hit her at the realization that he was probably taking her place on tactical. She hoped he'd be okay. It definitely wasn't his general cup of tea.

Seeing that the channel had been changed to Paula Dean, she scuffed and checked her distance display. She was at over ten miles, so she hit the STOP button, not caring about a cool-down. She noticed Sean had not returned. As she thought about how he was probably in search of salt tablets and a saline IV drip, she realized that he had left right after turning his attention back to the television. Had he seen Raf or one of the others with their heavily armed gear? Had that struck a nerve with him?

She thought about Chris' cryptic comments about Sean of two days before, but then threw those inquires away for the moment as she spotted him at the water cooler.

"Really? You gave-up?" Jules smiled at him with challenging eyes.

"Metaphorical Mr. Chuckles wasn't worth being emasculated by a 5 foot 2', 100 pound, current quack," he joked with her. Jules read it as a deflection. "Plus, I gotta go shower so I'm nice and fresh to impress Carly (with a 'C' (!)) in group Kumbya." He grinned at her. "Catch ya there early so we can re-string our guitars under close supervision?"

"You'd have to be my sponsor with that kind-a dangerous activity," Jules said as she indicated an orderly who was staring directly at her. "I'm on 'that' watch list."

As she and Sean parted ways to hit their respective showers, her concern for Sean took a back seat to her concern for her team. As far as she knew, this was the first call they had gone on without her, with one less member. She prayed they would make it through unscathed.

XXXXXX

An hour later, Jules found herself in her daily-waste-of-time session, a.k.a., group therapy. Sean sat next to her a little subdued, but, this was group therapy, so that was nothing new.

The topic of the day was 'things everyone wanted to be able to do with their lives, but couldn't for fear of PTSD symptoms.' Carly was going off on another one of her exasperating tangents before returning to the class's assigned topic.

"It's like, I just want to be able to go on a date again without seeing that monster's face in the man." Brutal rape victim aside, Jules thought how Carly was just a genuinely annoying person, and that she'd be hard pressed to find a date who could stand her. Senseless tragedy doesn't negate the fact that people have innate and mostly static personalities. "Something really romantic, like, looking out at the city from the top of a tall building, like in _An Affair to be Remembered_," Carly finished her thought, getting the name of the classic Cary Grant film completely wrong.

Jules non-consciously scuffed from across the room. All eyes turned to her.

"Jules, is there something you'd like to comment on?" the therapist asked with a some-what admonishing tone.

Jules flicked her eyes around the room to survey the damage of her non-conscious gaff. Great. Now she had to talk again.

"No, it's, just that." She blew-out a deep breathe. "I don't think I'll ever be able to view look'n out at the city from a tall building as romantic after I was hang'n off the top of a media tower on a string with a briefly suicidal girl in my arms after she slipped and I had ta jump and catch her." She half-smiled to herself at both the successful save and the first really tender moment it had inadvertently earned her with Sam.

The rest of the room was shocked into silence, until—

"I knew that was you!"

Jules turned to stare shocked and dumbfounded herself at Sean's outburst. Now all attention was on him.

He looked chagrined at his moment of lack of self-control. "It's just, ah." He gulped. "A buddy of mine told me about hearing that news story when he was on leave, form, ya' know, Afghanistan." He grew quiet and solemn.

Jules made a note to self to question him on his outburst.

At the conclusion of the meeting, Jules made sure to stay close to Sean so that she could see what he had been talking about in 'the circle of magic.' As Sean walked, he stared down with his head tipped towards the floor in apparent melancholy.

"Man, what was that about?" Jules asked him without preamble. Her blunt personality was one of the things senseless tragedy could not negate.

He turned his head to smile at her. "Noth'n. Just what I said. Your actions impressed my buddy and pretty-much made you a verbal pin-up girl in our unit." His smile wasn't entirely convincing.

Jules worked to cheer him up. "Hey, want to play with the commedia dell'arte puppet box theater? We could use their little slapsticks as aggression therapy, at least until they give us real baseball bats. I've heard baseball bat therapy really works," Jules finished referring to a misled 'family therapist' who had tried to 'cure' a teenage subject of his homosexuality. Man, she'd wanted a baseball bat at that point as much as she'd wanted a telescope when she was a kid. Emerging from her brief reverie, she flicked her eyebrows enticingly at Sean and grinned evilly. He didn't lift his head from its downward position.

She tried their usual method of joking with him. "What's with the intense perusal of the floor?" A look of faux shook lit her face. "Oh, no, Sean. Don't tell me you 'like' feet!"

Sean turned to grin at her. "No, more of an elbow man myself," he shot back with an even weirder fetish.

Jules straightened her arms and backed away a little. "That's where all the Vaseline is go'n," she laughed.

Sean stopped and turned to her. "Look, Jules. You mind if we call it a day and hang-out tomorrow?" he asked without a sarcastic note. Strange.

"Don't tell me my humor has JUST gotten too disturbing for you. I mean, we are in the nut house, but this could be seen as a sign of erratic, 'mental' behavior."

Sean quickly grabbed her shoulders. "No, no, I'm still right there with ya in the tryouts for Second City. It's just. I've gotta bit of a headache. Think I'm gonna go lie down."

Jules couldn't help herself. "Sean, it's not like I asked you to come over for the night or anything." She smiled coyly.

"You always have to wear the pants in the relationship, don't ya Callaghan?" Sean smirked.

"Ask Sam that the next time you get together to braid each other's hair," she shot back.

"Fine, but let 'im know I'm not gonna let him play with my Barbie this time. I still can't find her cute pink mini-skirt and matching tiara." Their verbal volleys just kept getting more and more pro.

Sean patted her shoulder before turning to walk towards his room.

Jules wondered what his changes in mood and strange behaviors had been all about. She thought back again to Chris's reactions and language in response to the intelligence that Sean and Jules had become Smart Alec friends. She had to remind herself that Sean was in this facility for the same reason as she was; he wasn't simply here to help her get through her own personal trip through Hades. She hoped she would learn what was going on with him so that she could support him just as he had been supporting her.

She continued to walk towards the lounge to continue her search for the 'Lost Arch of The NOT Lame Activity' available for clients' entertainment. As she approached the room, she passed the reception area and spotted Sarge signing-in. The look on his face conveyed to her that this was not going to be a purely social and supportive visit.

**Additional Author's Note:** Special thanks to **JayJe** for suggesting I make a BtVS reference to Bunny phobia, a la Anya. Also, thanks to **Sules** for her opinion on weird fetishes. I made sure to post on her facebook wall and not in an email the question, "So, what do you think is a weirder fetish: eyebrow or elbow; it's a Sean-Jules convo, nuff' said," because I thought that it would just be HILARIOUS if that question was immortalized on our micro-feeds. Sules, you're so "Effen" great! ; )

I've been thinking about writing a companion piece to explain how Sean came to be PTSD. Please let me know if that is something you would be interested in reading.

**Please leave a review** and let me know what you think of this chapter, if you'd like to read a Sean companion one-shot, or if you have any guesses as to what's to come. As always, constructive criticism, suggestions, and encouragement are always helpful. Thanks for reading!

Later Wally-gators,

Eals


	7. Breathless

**Author's Note:** Hey! So, thanks to all those who have been reading, reviewing and favoriting this story. You've been great, and an inspiration to my writing. As for last chapter, apparently bunny phobia is real, caused by some esoteric movie that people watched when they were toddlers. So, if I freaked you out last time, I apologize. I wrote this chapter yesterday, because Just World and Scars and S&M wouldn't open. Darn ! I waited 'til today to edit and publish, 'cause I figured y'all would have a back-log of stories to read. Can I just say, I'm so addicted to FF now and was so bored that I actually watched re-runs of Make It or Break It (of all things; at least I fell asleep sooner) on Hulu last night, because there weren't any updates? Dude, I need a pill.

Metaphysical Marathon

Chapter 7: Breathless

"Sarge." The dejected look on Greg's face frightened Jules marginally.

Hearing her voice, Greg looked-up from the sign-in sheet. The look of defeated sorrow left his face and was replaced by one of relief, and. . .pleading maybe? He took long strides towards the tiny brunette and wrapped her in his arms once more. However, this time was different from all those other times, especially in the recent past. It wasn't like he was trying to give comfort; it was more like he was seeking comfort for himself.

His hand cradled her head into his shoulder before they both pulled away. "Hey Jules." Greg plastered a smile on his face. It was as if Jules was looking at her own reflection in a fun-house mirror, distorted into Greg's, but still wearing one of her now signature masks. She might-as-well have had them copy-righted, she'd used them so often. She willed herself not to jump to any conclusions about what this might mean.

"Gotta say, this is unexpected." It was backwards day again. They players in this current theatrical representation of a relationship were going to switch roles. If Greg was going to play Jules' recent usual role of mask-wearing phantom, Jules was going to play Greg's usual part of trying to draw-out information in a round-about way, first establishing a comfort zone, not letting on to the primary purpose of her inquires.

"Just felt the need to see you." Greg didn't offer much. "How're you doing?" he deflected, deferring his own needs and desires for a later time. So much deflection was going on in this facility, Jules was surprised no one had been hit by a rouge piece of its shrapnel.

Jules led him the rest of the way to the lounge where they sat down together.

"I'm good, although," she tilted her head and gave him a half smile. "I still haven't gotten a baseball bat." Greg laughed softly at this declaration, some of the tension in his face diffusing. . .but only for a moment; his features soon fell once more.

"I saw ya guys were at City Hall today." Jules started to peal the Band-Aid off, gently, hairs pulling and grating at the effort. Greg looked shocked that she was privy to such intelligence. "About two seconds of newscast before Big Brother swooped in to save us loony minions from the current events that could send us off our rockers," Jules supplied in explanation.

Greg let-out a sigh, which he had been holding in since Jules' initial revelation of her knowledge about where the team had spent their day. _Good, _he thought._ She doesn't know details._ In truth, he could tell by her calm demeanor since she had first spotted him in the lobby that she could not have known much.

"Yeah, yeah, we were back at City Hall again."

"Would you like'ta elaborate, Boss?" She mentally kicked herself. She probably shouldn't be calling him 'Boss' anymore, as she had no plans of returning to his command. She shouldn't be sending him mixed messages.

Greg shook his head and directed his eyes past her shoulder, seeing through the wall with x-ray vision to the events of the day. "It was a tough one, Jules." He paused to direct his eyes back squarely on her face. "Tough without you. We really missed our heart." His metaphor was not lost on her; she strove to look past it.

Jules was certain there was more, much, much more, to this tail, which Greg was not disclosing, but she needed to dive-in and stake her ground, re-establish her previous declarations and fight Greg's sentiments with his own words. "You renege'n on your promise, Sarge? You told me you didn't care if I never profiled or negotiated ever again. You take'n that back?" she challenged in disbelief.

"I think I might be." Dejection reigned supreme in Greg's face and words. There had to be a reason why he would change his position on her chosen vocation in only a week.

The foreboding feeling of impending anxiety and panic began to rise within her once more. "Sarge, Greg," she used his first name as if he was the subject of a negotiation. "What happened today?" She ripped the Band-Aid violently off. Her pronunciation and annunciation were clear and direct.

Greg looked past her shoulder once again. "We lost it, couldn't hold it together today. Nothing on the call went as it was supposed to."

Jules' breathing was unconsciously becoming labored, her mind becoming clouded. She fought to stave-off another attack. Greg looked in her face and began to attempt to calm her, though he seemed to be in a dark place himself.

"What happened, Sarge?" She needed straight information. Straight information could keep her focused, grounded, her head out of the haze, the stars still shining in the sky.

"We responded with Team Three to a shot's fired call at City Hall," Greg began with inadvertent alliteration. Jules contemplated actually writing those Limericks and Haikus in her head. "A shooter was in the building, presumably searching for something or someone. We couldn't get a handle on who he was, or what he wanted." Greg paused, willing himself forward." Until we reached some victims who had only been wounded by his bullets." Jules began to picture the carnage her team must have witnessed this day. It made her feel guilty about her reaction to the exploding ketchup bottle. "The subject was identified as a Carl Schubert." Jules thought how 'Carl' was so close to 'Carly.' She wondered if he ran around proclaiming that he spelled it with a 'C.' "He was an activist, disgruntled by a law one of the City Councilman had advocated and pushed through." Greg had used the past tense; this fact was not lost on Jules. "As we spread-out in search of Carl throughout the building, a woman walked in front of the truck and threatened to blow herself-up with a vest bomb if we didn't let Carl be. I went back to negotiate." Greg shook his head. "I couldn't read her, couldn't reach her. Spike said there was something hinky about her supposed 'bomb,' said he couldn't pick-up any indication of it from the vest, but she did have a pager and was threatening to push the detonator." Greg couldn't look Jules in the eye at this point. "The Bravo Team was back in the lobby of City Hall to regroup. And, I couldn't reach her." Greg was getting a little difficult to follow, stream of conscious, William Faulkner. "She pressed the button, but nothing happened to her. But." Greg looked both disgusted with himself and fearful at the course this conversation had necessarily had to make. "There was an explosion in the Hall lobby." He didn't elaborate on this, although Jules could read there was more. "Right after that, Alpha Team reported that they found both the Councilman and Carl dead in an office. Carl finished his mission, then killed himself." Greg became silent, as if the effort of recounting this story had rendered him mute.

"Sarge," Jules pleaded, teetering on the edge of her grip on reality, the present, the tangible and visual world in front of her. "What aren't you telling me?"

Greg could see how close she was to breaking. Again. This time it would be his fault. He would have failed at his resolution to protect her. He held his arms out to steady her. "Everything's okay now, Jules, you need to know that, but." Jules' terror heightened at the look in his eyes. "Sam was in the lobby." Jules breath caught. Greg hurried to finish. "He was knocked-out by the concussion of the blast and thrown face-down into a two-foot deep fountain." Jules' world started to flash to images of Sam's pained face through the glass in the lab. "Raf and some members of Team 3 found him and gave him CPR." Jules lost it. Here fists unclenched, and she lost her grip on the present. The lightning was back in her head, the fear, the pain, Sam's pain outside the lab. Her guilt.

Greg saw this all happening before his eyes and internally swore at himself for being the cause of it. Even if his leadership skills had failed his team and led to unforeseen consequences today, at least he could have prevented any more hardship for her, she whom was already suffering as a result of one his previous poor leadership decisions. His guilt was increasing ten-fold. He shook her shoulders. "Stay with me here, Jules. It's alright. Sam's alright. Raf saved him." So, at one point during the day, when Sam wasn't within her view, he did cease to exist from this world. But, Sarge affirmed that he was alive, real again, and she trusted his assurance more than her own metaphysical belief. The panic began to fade at Sarge's words, but it was still present, waiting for an idle moment to reclaim ownership of her mind and brain.

"Where is he?" Jules whispered, eyes wide.

"He's at the hospital for observation for the night. He's fine now," Greg reiterated. "He's coming to see you tomorrow."

Jules tried to regain her tough exterior, reconnect with her hard-core, bad-ass center and personality that often lay dormant recently. "That's not good enough, Sarge. I want'a see him now."

Greg shook his head. "Tomorrow's fine. You can wait 'til then." It came out as an order.

When he saw concession rise in Jules' eyes, his initial look of pleading returned. He returned to his, shamefully, primary purpose for this visit. "I couldn't talk that woman down today, Jules. Couldn't read that she was just a distraction. A two-way distraction." He shook his head again and grabbed her arm. "But, I think you could have. I think you would have seen through her, connected with her, talked her out of her plan." He paused to reason out his argument more firmly. "I know you couldn't be there today, but I wish you would reconsider your stance on this and see how much we need you to stay on the team."

So, of course Greg's 180 from his declaration of the week before was fueled by guilt, doubt. Jules had more than enough of each of those emotions to fuel the both of them. She saw his bet, raised him double, and called the hand.

It was her turn to shake her head. "I don't think so, Sarge. I don't think I can do it anymore." She looked him square in the eye. "And, I can never be the cause of suffering to Sam, or any of you, never again." Having planted this flag in in the sand, she looked away.

Greg forced her to look him straight in the eye again. "You wouldn't be, ever. We can't always control what subjects do. But, we can prevent it. You have a gift for being able to prevent that. You've shown that time and time again, just by being who you are. Prevention is what we're after. I didn't set-off that bomb in the lobby today, but I also didn't prevent it from being set-off. I think you could have."

Greg's confidence in her was strong and somewhat unsettling. There was no reason he should have so much faith in her. She had failed him, failed the team, failed Sam the last time she was given such responsibility to try to 'prevent' subjects from doing something drastic to others, or themselves. She may have had that talent in the past, but that was before she had been corrupted by the silent stalkers that all too frequently commandeered her brain, and subsequently, her mind. Before she had become a slave to altered states of reality.

"Sarge."

"I know. That was a lot for today." Greg pulled her into another hug. This one actually seemed to be more for her comfort than his solace. "But, just think about it. Don't decide to give-up on this job now. Give it time."

Jules nodded her head as a sign of promise that she would keep her mind open, what mind she had under her own control, even if that promise was a lie. By not speaking, she had not broken the negotiators' cardinal rule of never lying. She had, however, gone into the fib territory of the negotiators' repertoire. She needed to give Greg some straw of hope to grasp after this horrible day of his. _Poor Sarge_, she thought for the second time this day. He now has two team members under his command in two different hospitals for two different reasons. The two sides of the same coin. At least Sam would be out the next day. Jules wondered if she'd ever be whole enough to be declared just as healthy.

"Come on, Jules, let me take you to dinner," Greg said standing-up. He looked as though he could use a few lingering hours over disgusting cafeteria food, company, and comfort as much as she could. She herself would need his presence to stave-off the terror about what had happened to Sam this day. Even without the ramifications of her current state of being, knowledge of what Sam had been through would have haunted her for a while, even if she didn't show it.

Jules thought about how odd and surprising the day had been. It had gone from thoughts of oddly comforting paranoia, to playful competition and banter, to concern for her team, to concern for Sean, to more concern for her team, to panic over Sam, to giving false hope to Sarge. She was surprised she hadn't either figuratively or literally thrown-up from the roller-coaster of a ride the day had been. She hoped tomorrow, with Sam's visual and tangible presence once more assured, would be more safely pedestrian.

**Author's Additional Note: **Famous last words, Jules. So, in writing this chapter, I had to straddle a fine line between making Jules appropriately concerned and freaked-out by what happened to Sam and not making her moon over him or clingy. I hate when people write her like that. She's not like that. If anyone moons over anyone and is clingy in this relationship, it's Sam. But, I figure hearing your soul-mate was clinically dead for a few minutes is a valid reason for overtly freaking out, even if you don't have PTSD. Yes, I killed Sam. But, he was only a little dead. At first I was just going to have him get shot in the arm and have to shoot another dude he felt a connection with (like in Behind the Blue Line), but this just seemed more dramatic. Also, I had to up Greg's guilt. Also, damn FF wasn't working yesterday, and I had a little anger to take out; Sam was just an easy target. Ooppss.

**Please leave a review** and let me know what you think. As you can see, this story is getting darker; note my first sentence to this AA note (that's additional author's note, not Alcoholics Anonymous note). Also, be on the look-out for the Sean one-shot. Thanks for reading!

Happy Thursday, (Darn. If it was Wed., I could have said "Happy Hump-Day." *snaps fingers*)

Eals


	8. Pot Calling the Kettle Black

**Author's Note:** Hi all! Thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing this story, and especially to those who read, reviewed, and or placed on favorites the little orphan Annie Sean (possibly) one-shot. I love how people have started to refer to him as their Sean. So great! So, sorry about the wait for this chapter. I needed to get the Sean story out before it, and I was psyching myself out about making the Sam-Jules stuff too gushy. But really, when I sat down to write they just spoke to each other through me. I should hire myself out as a medium. I've been waiting to write this chapter for a long time now. You'll see why.

I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint, Baywatch, Sonny and Cher, or Heinz Ketchup.

I'm placing another suicide/self-harm warning on this chapter. Read with caution.

Metaphysical Marathon

Chapter 8: Pot Calling the Kettle Black

The night had past well.

Well, as in, well, if you discount the constant string of Baywatch-esque nightmares in which Sam had NOT survived his near drowning. By five in the morning, Jules had had enough of either stubbornly fighting her eyelids or trying to think herself into a more pleasant state of sleep, preferably one in which she didn't dream at all, restorative REM cycle be damned, and gave-up to head to the cafeteria for some coffee. She was glad this rehab center didn't have a sleep disorder wing, effectively making caffeine a member of the banned substance list. She'd rather have head lice, or worse, be Carly's room-mate, than go without the caffeine that she was now borderline abusing. Good thing they had a coffee pot in the lounge as well.

Which was where she was now. She knew Sam would come as soon as he was let out of the hospital, but she figured that wouldn't happen until late in the morning. She planned on waiting patiently in the lounge, with her constant companion of coffee, until he showed-up to reaffirm his existence to her. Maybe she'd be able to hang-out with Sean for a while.

She thought how it was weird that it was nearly 9:30 am and she still hadn't seen Sean yet. Usually, they met-up around 7am and 'supported' each other in their free time throughout the day. She figured he must have had an early one-on-one session with Chris this morning. That was just as well. She was somewhat unsure of how she would react to the simple common question of 'Hey, how'ya do'n, Jules?'. . . '_Well, Sam died yesterday for a little while, and my Boss thinks I'm the second coming, thus is beg'n me to return to a job that I have a complete lack of confidence for now. You?_'- Yeah, that wouldn't be an awkward conversation.

Bordering around 10 am, she looked-up from the Sonny and Cher themed word-search she was doing (she was currently looking for the word 'lame;' she was sure it was a bonus word not spelled-out in the queue) to see Sean walk by. He didn't stop to chat, just gave her a small wave and a sad, almost guilty smile. Before Jules could jump-up to see what was up with him, Sam walked in front of her. All thoughts of Sean immediately left her mind.

Before she could throw herself at him for a bone crushing hug, she reminded herself that he probably had a broken rib or two from the CPR. Plus, she didn't want to freak him out with uncharacteristic over emotion. She settled for one of her gentle, slow hugs, standing on her tip-toes to give him a soft kiss on the cheek.

"Done knock'n on Heaven's door?" she asked with sarcasm.

Sam breathed into her hair, confirming the tangible existence of air in his lungs. "No vacancies."

Jules actually giggled with giddiness (Jules giggling, not laughing!) into his neck at his words before pulling away to look at his living presence square on. "You liar. Saint Peter lost your transcripts, didn't he?"

Sam smiled down at her, but didn't remove his hands from her body. "You complaining?"

She returned his smile. "No. I always find bureaucratic disorganization amusing."

Sam pulled her into another hug before guiding her to a sofa to sit down. "Ever the wise-ass, Jules."

She thought how it was funny that they were talking about this, but not actually saying anything. This type of avoidant, sardonic dance was usually reserved for her conversations with Sean.

"So, how are you feeling, Jules?" Sam asked with love and concern in his eyes.

Jules shot him a disbelieving smirk. "Shouldn't I be ask'n you that?" Her current state of being was turning reality and norms of conversation completely up-side down.

He gave her a cocky grin. "Me? I'm fine. The team has a week off to deal with some of the tough cases we've been on lately. That should be more than enough time to recharge my battery and get back on the horse."

Sam was mixing metaphors. That and his raspy voice caused by breathing water into his lungs were really starting to piss Jules off.

"Just need to recharge your battery, eh?" She snorted. "Hey, maybe I should at least send Raf a fruit basket, to, ya know, thank him for the jump he gave you." She was not beyond using metaphors herself. And, her anger at his nonchalant attitude was starting to show. "You seem pretty damn blasé about DYING yesterday!"

Shook at her anger and a smidge of rage lit Sam's own face. "Hello, Pot. It's the Kettle. You're black." He felt the need to remind her of her own near death experiences that he had had to witness and her subsequent blasé attitudes. "I seem to be taking my cues from an experienced method actor."

No comparison. "Whoa, whoa, whoa there, cowboy. Almost dying a couple of times does NOT equal the sum of the parts of ACTUALLY being clinically dead for a few minutes. I concede that you're winning on this count." Jules had to admit to herself that this was the weirdest argument she'd ever had in her life. She was actually fighting with Sam about who had the most incongruous reaction to a near death experience. She knew it was just an argument strategically placed to avoid the conversation about how freaked-out they had been for each other. Looking at it that way, it was kind-of cute. They REALLY needed a better way to fit cuteness into their relationship. Or not. Who needs cute in a relationship, really?

"I don't believe for one second YOU never coded!" Sam's reaction was completely inappropriate, and he could read it in his own voice. He looked at Jules with contrition; she simply looked like she was on the verge of laughing her ass off.

And the flood gates opened. Jules attempted to talk between guffaws as Sam joined in on her mirth. "Really?" she coughed out. "Really, Sam? I really don't remember if I ever coded, but still, there's a complete absurdity in this entire conversation."

Sam stifled his own laughs. "Yeah, there is." He looked deeply into her eyes. "I just love you so much."

Jules looked away bashfully before willing herself to return his intense gaze. "I love you so much it hurts too." She shook her head and looked away again.

These were not the words Sam wanted to hear, especially not with what she was going through right now. He hated that the dangers of their job just kept hurting her mentally in various and sundry ways. He pulled her in to kiss her forehead. "It's alright now. I'm not going anywhere. And, I know you're not going anywhere from me." His last sentence was almost pleading. Jules picked-up on this nuance, but didn't comment on it.

Jules changed the conversation. "One week off? What's that all about?"

Sam sighed. "I don't know. With all that's going on, they want us to take some time to evaluate ourselves, re-group. Lord knows Sarge could definitely use the time."

Jules returned his sigh and rolled her eyes to herself. "Yeah. Looks like Sarge is have'n a return to the dark side. He really sounded like he was question'n his abilities when he came 'ta see me yesterday. Needs someone to tell him he's number one again." She shook her head, now thinking about his pleas for her return.

Sam half smiled. "Yeah. Poor Sarge and Jules. The two near perfect people who struggle with being human like us little people every now and then," he joked and punctuated his sentence with a laugh.

Jules playfully pushed his shoulder in mock annoyance, but returned his laugh. As the great Abraham Lincoln once said, 'If I didn't laugh, I should cry.' Jules was glad she had people like Sam and Sean to help her laugh through her troubles. She supposed she was truly Irish in this way. She hoped that one day soon there wouldn't be so many troubles to have to laugh away. At least Sam would be out of the line of fire for a week. That was one less thing to worry about.

Sam and Jules' somewhat bizarre conversation was cut-short by an approaching 'helpful' nurse.

"Officer Callaghan. It's time for a group therapy session. Would you mind picking-up your friend Corporal O'Brian from his room on the way?"

"Oh, joy (!)," Jules exclaimed with fake enthusiasm instead of swearing under her breath like she was so inclined. "Sure, no problem." She turned to face Sam for the farewell she was not looking forward to on so many levels.

"'Officer Callaghan' and 'Corporal O'Brian'?" Sam questioned with his eyebrows raised.

Jules shrugged. "Some of the nurses and orderlies have a thing for titles. Figure if they give us that 'respect' we won't jump out the second story window or somethin'."

"Psshhhttt," Sam scoffed. "That wouldn't even kill you; it'd just maim you." He smiled at his morbid joke.

"I know!" Jules exclaimed. "That's what I've been say'n, but my street cred counts for noth'n here."

They both rose, and Sam nearly pounced on her as he dove in for a strong kiss, not holding back any of his passion or pulling any punches. When he broke away, Jules had a slightly dazed expression on her face.

"Been wanting to do that since I saw you today," Sam grinned.

"Gaahhh, hhmmmm," was all Jules could answer. Sam was the one who had nearly drowned yesterday, but Jules was the one who needed oxygen.

Sam leaned in to give her a tender kiss on the forehead. "I've got a whole week off, so I'll see you soon." He hesitated. "Well, except for whenever they schedule me for a psy. eval." He frowned at his own words. No one in the SRU remotely liked psychological evaluations. Especially not the post-critical incident ones.

"I'd say 'sucks to be you,' but," Jules finished holding her arms out to indicate their setting.

Sam smiled and stole one last glimpse at her before turning for the exit. "Bye, Jules. Have fun with the Group Psy. Eval!" he shouted back to her with false cheerfulness.

"Hey, Sam. Just think. If ya fail your eval., maybe you can join us. We've been missing the opinions of a cocky blonde guy!" Jules gushed as she shouted at his retreating form with equally false enthusiasm.

As she turned to pick-up Sean from his room for the group session, she thought about how truly good Sam looked. It was hard to believe that just the day before his breath had stopped while his heart ceased to beat, his soul left his body. But, no matter how dreadful her sleeping and waking dreams had been, he was still Sam, still her Sam with only a slightly raspy voice. And if his parting kiss was any indication, he probably didn't even have any broken ribs. She marveled about how life moved on even after what seemed like the end.

She turned the corner and strode to open Sean's door. "Hey, O'Brian, hope you're not nak—Sean!" Absolute terror filled her heart.

Sean was siting against his far wall with trails of blood circling around him, clutching the only weapon he could find in this secure rehab facility with which to harm himself: a tiny, jagged piece of glass from the flashback inducing exploding ketchup bottle. He used it to slice one of his wrists. Jules would never see Heinz the same again.

"We need an EMT in her, NOW!" Jules shouted down the hallway as she slammed the emergency call button all of the rooms in the center were equipped with and ran to Sean's side. As he brought the tiny makeshift dagger up to his other wrist, Jules grabbed his hand and ripped the piece of glass out of his hand, throwing it violently across the room. She wrapped his self-torn artery in her hands and fought to maintain control over his struggling arms. It wasn't much of a fight. He was getting weaker by the second.

"Damn-it, Sean. What the Hell are you doing?" she effectively rhetorically questioned as uncontrollable tears began to brim her eyes. She'd never seen this coming. She had failed as a friend, because, she should have.

"Promised him. . ." Sean breathed weakly. "Should be with them now. . ."

The reality that Sean was being afflicted with a guilt ridden flashback dawned on Jules. He had probably reasoned that he couldn't take the anguish anymore. She worked to help him just as he had helped her, but in different circumstances with a different outcome and effect.

"It's alright, Sean. I'm still here. You need to stay with me. Let them go, and stay with me." Jules continued to clutch his bleeding wrist and slowly rock him as she prayed for the speedy arrival of the EMT's.

**Additional Author's Note:** Rebecca Heinz Kerry and her French-looking candidate hubby changed how I would see Heinz forever, but hey, that's just me. So, whopper of a chapter.

**Please leave a review** and let me know what you think of this chapter, particularly the Sam-Jules scene and the Sean stuff, which I guess is the whole chapter. I may be ego depleted from stats tutoring all afternoon. . .

Thanks for reading,

Eals


	9. Catharsis of Foils

**Author's Note:** As always, thanks to all who have been reading and reviewing this story! Your constructive criticism and encouragement always helps me with my writing. So, I have this chapter out a little earlier in the day than I thought I would, because **MollyLyn** kept dropping me helpful hints to get it out on Twitter. I love how there's a writers' circle of us on Twitter now to (among other things, including having discussions on Irish Mafia mermaids) harass each other into publishing new chapters. I actually, ironically, wrote the beginning of this chapter while I was waiting for my friend Jules to have coffee with me. ". . . I'm actually writing a story where the main character's name is Jules too. . .".

I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint or The Host (which is surprisingly a really good book that gets into philosophical debates on colonization)

Metaphysical Marathon

Chapter 9: Catharsis of Foils

Jules sat in stunned silence, the same stunned silence she'd been in since the EMTs had literally had to rip Sean out of her hands to take him to the emergency room.

She was stunned for so many different reasons: Why did Sean do this to himself? Why didn't he ever tell her how bad things had been for him? Why didn't the damn rehab facility have EMTs on staff? The close proximity of the nearest hospital was no excuse. She thought about what dire things could happen to people like Sean and her because the people in this facility were such incompetent a-holes.

Jules knew her anger at the employees and policies of the rehab facility was completely misdirected. If she was being honest with herself, she would see that the person she was really angry at was herself. She had seen that something had been off with Sean for the past couple of days. But she was too wrapped up in her own selfish worries for Sam, who was perfectly fine now, and how to dodge Sarge's requests for her return that she didn't see what was staring her right in the face. Sean's use of deflection, which was as rampant as hers; his recent dejected demeanor and desires to spend time alone. If she could willingly admit that she had thought about how much of a relief her own death would be, how could she not have guessed that Sean probably felt the same way? They were the same, wounded warriors struggling to take the next step, the next breath without breaking into a million shards of glass. Or were they?

Damn ketchup bottle. Always that damn ketchup bottle.

Ketchup. Catsup. Glass. Shank. Blood.

Prison metaphors were compounding in her head.

"Jules!" Chris had apparently been trying to get her attention. She had been sitting in his office for the past half hour after all. Was it a half hour? Was it more? What does it really matter? Time had ceased to have meaning for her. Time was now amorphous. But, no, no it wasn't. Time couldn't be amorphous. It was set, structured, clearly demarcated in space. Time-

"Jules!" Chris was attempting to draw her out of her abstraction again. Poor guy was trying his hardest. She really shouldn't punish him for attempting to do his job, for her own musings and ineptitude. She flashed her eyes at him, breaking her self-confining daze.

"We need to talk about this. Need to talk about what Sean did." Chris had updated his ranking from Captain Fantastic to Admiral Obvious. But Jules wasn't going to bite on his hook.

"I want to see him." This was probably the first form of verbalized speech she had made since pleading with Sean to stay with her, let his friends go and stay with her. It was a demand. She had made her first demand. She'd become a subject. She knew she wouldn't get what she wanted without giving something in return.

"I don't think that's a good idea." Jules didn't give a damn about what Chris thought. They were beyond the realm of philosophical theorizing and into the real world. Real actions with real consequences. The bell rang and the class was dismissed. Time to apply some of that learned knowledge.

"You tell'n me he's dead?" Jules waited to read his reaction. Chris may have thought he played things close to the chest, but Jules could still read his hand. "I know he's not dead. I highly doubt we'd be here in this sort'a situation if he was dead. You'd probably throw me in that padded cell."

Jules had been under close observation since the EMTs had pried Sean out of her hands the day before. Chris had tried to talk to her twice already, but she hadn't made a peep. He'd let her exist in her own space to process events, but now he demanded outward effusion of emotion and thought.

"I just think it's important for us to talk about what happened. Sean's mortality really has no bearing on the event you just lived through." Chris wanted to continue the philosophical game. Child's play. It was time for adult swim.

"I'm not talk'n to you until I've seen him." Jules held firm.

"That's really against policy, and it could be extremely harmful to your recovery," Chris explained with a fatherly gaze. As if Jules gave a damn about her recovery right now. She was never going to recover if she just kept running away from every aspect of reality that could even remotely invoke panic. She needed to take the kid-gloves off and put on her big girl pants, deal with it head on. Why didn't these people see this?

"Are you flat out not giving me permission to see my friend?" Jules' tone was challenging. She was giving herself the upper hand.

"I can't in good conscious give you permission to see Sean O'Brian. We shouldn't break protocol."

"Then I'm checking myself out now. I came here voluntarily, and I can leave voluntarily." Chris had no idea how far she'd go with her threats in order to defend her principles.

Chris actually smirked at her. He could be a real swarmy pain in the ass when he thought he had the higher ground. "I don't think the SRU will allow you to return if you don't finish out your treatment."

Jules scoffed and shook her head in disbelief. "You think I give a damn about the SRU? You think I'm even ever gonna go back there?" She scoffed again and shook her head as she looked-up to the ceiling in annoyance. "Get your head out'a the sand, Chris. Look around you! You think I can even do my job anymore! For God's sake man, I couldn't even read that a guy I've been spending most of my waking hours with was suicidal!"

Chris didn't have a leg to stand on. Jules obviously wasn't ready to leave, but all threats he could use to keep her in place were now moot. He worried for her overall health and now had an emotionally vested interest in helping her. He needed to keep her here in any way he could. "If I let you go to the hospital to see him, will you promise to talk to me the moment you get back?"

This was the concession Jules needed to get her demand. She had go to give in. It was the way the game was played. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll talk to you after I see my friend."

XXXXXXX

Jules was escorted by the same burly orderly who had been posted as her suicide watch sentry to the hospital down the street from the rehab facility where Sean was taken. Although they could have easily walked on this beautifully sunny day, they drove. Jules toyed with the idea of getting in, buckling-up and asking 'are we there yet?' to get a response of 'Yes. . .,' but the situation was seriously crimping her desire for humor, let alone speaking.

As they entered the hospital, Jules had a visceral desire to retch. That smell. That same smell. Industrial disinfectant and utterly worthless making agents like spring fresh detergent. She thought how at least the rehab facility, mental hospital or not, didn't have this nauseating smell. How could Sean even think to do something to himself that would land him in an ironically inhospitable hospital like this?

When they reached the reception desk, John the orderly (Jules thought it was funny how three of the other orderlies were Matt, Mark, and Lucas) spoke the first words Jules had heard him speak in her hearing range; he usually held a silent goon type status. "Corporal Sean O'Brian, admitted form Sunrise Rehabilitation Center, please."

Sunrise Rehab Center. Rehab centers always had those sorts of lame nature-y names, like New Tree or Desert Morning. They sounded like a cross between a pain color and the name of a Soul from Stephanie Meyer's book, The Host. Jules thought how if she ever opened a rehab center, she'd call it 'Santorini Sky Solace' or something. Nature and alliteration. Now she actually was writing poems in her head.

Jules and John were directed towards Sean's room. Another irony hit her. Sean and John were different derivations of the same name. Biblical John was her physical protector just as she had seen Irish Sean as her mental protector. She guessed brute ruled over brains on this point.

John paused in front of Sean's room, giving Jules an appraising look. He didn't speak, so Jules took the initiative. "Look, John. Can you just give us a few minutes? The blinds are open and he's already on suicide watch. You can stand and watch us from out here the whole time." Ever the negotiator.

John simply nodded before addressing her directly for the first time. "I can only give you a few minutes, Constable." John was a simple and direct man, probably former military. He was one of the guys who had a thing for titles, but presumably because he was so used to using them in everyday life for years.

Jules nodded her agreement and entered the room. Sean was hooked-up to several machines and IV's, including one for blood. Jules was familiar with that kind of set-up. She'd been hooked-up the same way a couple of times herself. But, Sean was also in restraints to keep his arms and legs from moving. Part of the mandatory Psy. hold aspect of his admission. That was an experience Jules swore to never have to have.

Sean blinked his eyes and stared at her. So, he was awake. Good.

"You came." It was a statement, but that did not negate the fact that his voice was full of wonder. Contrition, shame, and guilt lined Sean's face. The contrition and guilt were fine for Jules. They were emotions that are constructive in that they generally drive positive change. Shame was the killer she had to erase.

"Yeah, well, tickets to free beer night at the Blue Jays were all sold-out, so I had to find some other way to entertain myself." Jules smiled at him.

"I guess a freak-show is more entertaining anyway," Sean responded in disgusted reference to himself.

Jules shrugged. "They told me I'd get to see the bearded lady, but I'll take you all the same." She sat down next to him and took his hand in hers. He seemed like he wanted to pull away out of shame, but the restraints prevented that. Jules would use this to her advantage as she dove into what she came to say. Seeing his living, breathing presence wasn't good enough. She needed to state her piece. She had her own guilt to share.

"Look, Sean, I know I couldn't be what I should be, talked you down off that ledge—'

"Jules, stop!" Sean cut her off with fire and anger in his face. "You don't give yourself enough credit. . ." He shook his head, the only body part he could now move under his own volition. "You DID talk me down off that ledge. The first time I saw you in group therapy." His tone of voice was now gentler.

Jules frowned in confusion. She wondered if blood loss had given him neurological damage.

"I couldn't have gone on if I didn't meet someone who saw the humor in this situation. And. . ." Sean struggled to explain. "And you saw it, see it. Drew me out. Saved me for another day." He squeezed her hand in comfort. "Don't blame yourself. I can't take this shit anymore, but it's you who made me last this long."

It was Jules' turn to be angry. "Don't you give-up on me, you arrogant jack-ass," she almost spat. "You think you know your limits, but you're wrong. You're so much stronger than this. And, you've got ME, damn-it!" She paused to morph her anger and passion into ironically loving concern mixed with warning. "You give-up again, I will seriously kick your ass."

Sean looked surprised at her words for multiple reasons. It was as if he'd never had someone to bat for him or to be in his corner, at least not for a very long time. "You still want to be friends with an irreparably damaged looser like me?"

At his words, Jules had an epiphany which would help ignite her catharsis and possibly light her eventual cure. She smiled to herself before giving that smile to him. "You have to give yourself to your friends." She shook her head up to the ceiling as she smiled at her realizations. "If I didn't give myself to my friends, I don't know where I'd be."

Sean still looked confused. "So, is this a 'pay-it forward' type thing?"

Jules smirked at him and wore a sardonic expression. "No, you idiot, it's a 'you're my friend, and I'm not gonna leave you in times of trouble' type thing."

"Why do you care so much, after what I did to you?"

Jules remembered asking this same question to Sarge not too long ago herself. It had been a complete enigma to her then, but had perfect clarity to her now. She smiled at this epiphany.

"Because we're human. We all got troubles sometimes, and if we didn't have help, none of us would make, ever, man."

XXXXXX

"I need to know what happened. How you thought and felt when you were with Sean yesterday," Chris began. "I let you see him, now you have to speak to me."

Half an hour later, Jules sat back in Chris's office, this time ready to talk.

"I'm not gonna say it was a walk through the park. It was terrible, horrifying," Jules responded, but didn't offer any more.

Chris began to steer the conversation. "Sean had cut one of his arteries and was bleeding pretty badly. Did you find yourself back in the lab with a torn artery yourself?" This would have been an obvious assumption. The circumstances were similar, self-inflicted or not. It would only make sense that it would trigger a flashback in her.

"Honestly," Jules shrugged, "no. I was too focused on stemming the blood and praying for a miracle."

"And you were a hero. You saved his life." Chris smiled at her than paused and leaned forward with his chin on his hands to ask the difficult, but necessary question that had been worrying him since he heard about the incident. "I read you as one of these people who carries the world on their shoulders. Lots of times those types of people feel a great amount of responsibility and guilt if anything goes wrong that they think they could have prevented. This guilt leads to shame that can trigger adverse reactions." Chris paused again to take a deep breath. "Given what you told me a few days ago, did this event trigger any feelings or desires to do something drastic yourself as a result of perceived failure?"

Energy coursing through her veins, Jules stood-up in an apparent dramatic gesture. She needed to pace a little while she gave her big speech. "Ya know, you keep trying to make these grand comparisons between me and Sean or me and my Mom. But, the truth is, I'm not Sean, and I'm not my Mom. I'm a completely different person who responds to the same circumstances and maladaptive brain chemistry different." She searched for the right words and shot her hands out dramatically when she found them, smacking them out of the air. "The truth is, we're foils. Opposites. I wouldn't do what either of them did or tried to do, ever; because I have something beyond my own will that's stronger than any pain or sorrow I've ever been through or could ever go through. I've got friends who will never let me go into the dark like that. Their presence, their existence, even when I can't see them, always gives me the will to fight."

Jules sat and smiled to herself at the memories that proved this declaration to be true: Sam shouting at her to stay with him on the roof after she had been shot, Sarge telling her to hang in there when she was bleeding to death in the lab, Sarge wrapping her in a fatherly hug when she was dead set on leaving Toronto and all the people she felt she was hurting, Wordy promising to do anything for her in the bar, Sam telling her he loved her so much. This was her real reality. No matter how hard life got mentally or physically, she'd always have these rocks to lean on. They would always guide her home.

Chris smiled at her monologue. "Sounds like you've reached a bit of a catharsis."

Jules jerked her head and half smiled. "Guess it takes foils to reach that."

**Additional Author's Note: **So originally, I was going to kill Sean, back when he was still Jack and lived in my head. But then, I realized that I wanted Jules to have the catharsis I, and many others, never got to have in a similar situation. Also, I basically want to date Sean now. We can work through the whole PTSD and suicidal thing. What couple doesn't have its troubles? Also, I realized the sentiment and cadence of his speech to Jules about how she saved him was pretty much the same as Mulder's to Scully in the hallway scene in the first X-Files movie. I kept hearing David Duchovny in my head while I was typing from my manuscript. Oh, and that thing about time being amorphous came from the moron valedictorian of my high school class. My school screwed with the class rank for political correct purposes, and you could tell, because his speech looked like he had just written something and kept hitting the thesaurus button in Word. Him: "Time is amorphous." Me: "NO, no it's not! It's set and structured. That's the freaking point!" I had to use it at some point in my writing. **MollyLyn **gets to use mobsters throwing someone in the ocean to sleep with the fishes, creating mermaids, so I get the moron, fraud valedictorian.

**Please leave a review, **and let me know what you think. I personally love Jules' two speeches in this chapter. They really echo the points I'm trying to make against deciding to attempt suicide. This is kind-a one of my favorite chapters ever.

Peace, love, and rock and roll,

Eals


	10. Not Gonna Leave

**Author's Note:** Hey everyone. As always, thanks to all who have been reading and reviewing this story. I'm glad you're all glad I didn't kill Sean. The only problem is, now I have to fight **Playergurl89** for him. Although, it's quite gratifying to create an imaginary character who a reader claims I can't date because she's marrying him. I better back-off; she might go through with the whole voodoo doll threat. So, this chapter didn't even come close to having all that I thought it would. So, there may be a chapter or two more before I get to the super exciting chapter that I've been dreaming about (literally in some cases)! Yay!

I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint, Pinocchio, Die Hard, or Twitter, although, I'm seriously own'n some sweet tweets on Twitter.

Metaphysical Marathon

Chapter 10: Not Gonna Leave

It had been two days since Sean's attempted suicide. In that time, Jules had been in lock-down, not able to have visitors or participate in any group activities. This was the program's standard policy, instituted to give clients time to be evaluated and deemed stable after a traumatic event. After Jules' cathartic speech, Chris had thought this set-up ridiculous; he'd had Jules released from lock-down as soon as he possibly could.

Thus, Jules had plans to have a visit from Sam today. She was heartily looking forward to this, as without Sean, she was becoming extremely bored and restless in her free time. There was nothing like wise-ass banter to cure monotony. Plus, the fact that Jules had realized she would never hurt herself and that her friends, non-blood family, would never allow her to do anything harmful to herself did not negate the fact that she was still suffering from PTSD symptoms. Sean's presence had always distracted her from the unconscious automatic negative thoughts to which the PTSD made Jules prone. There was also the fact that Jules desperately wanted Sean back so that she could keep him under her own close supervision and begin to help him fight through the darkness that apparently had been swallowing him whole. Carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders or not, Jules' connection and friendship with Sean had become so strong she couldn't help but feel that there was more she could do to help him through his suffering.

"Excuse me ma'am, but could you please direct me to the nearest pharmacy or dispenser of psycho-active drugs?"

Jules looked-up from the lame magazine article on the 2004 US Presidential race (_we're not even in the States! Why was this magazine even here to begin with_, she had thought) she was reading at the sound of Sam's voice. Of course he would make himself know after such a dramatic reason for separation with a non-sequitur question like that. Or was it a non-sequitur?

She smiled and rose to greet him with a hug. "Take it ya had your psy. eval?"

Sam held her more tightly than he normally would have before growling into her shoulder and releasing her. "I think the term 'inquisition' is more accurate."

Jules involuntarily laughed at him. Aside from the fact that she was currently in an institution where she was under a constant psychological evaluation, she realized that Sam had never had to undergo a critical incident type of evaluation. Although any kind of psy. evaluation was strenuous, none so were more demanding than those needed for re-instatement after near death experiences. Jules had had to suffer through two such of these and knew exactly where Sam was coming from.

"They suggested a prescription for mood stabilizers, didn't they?"

Sam frowned at the mirth she found in this situation. "Apparently I have some lingering anxieties from my near drowning that are latent and might cause me to fall apart without even knowing it." He looked like he was about to growl again.

Jules raised an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, because THAT never happens."

Sam looked a bit chagrined in response. "Did you ever fill the prescriptions they gave you?" Sam asked this with some caution. He didn't want her to think that he was implying that she was weak in any way.

Jules scoffed. "Seriously, I'd rather have Electro Convulsive Shock Therapy."

Sam laughed because he knew she was being completely serious. Sam didn't even think Jules used aspirin. But, he only laughed for a moment. His brief mirth was only overshadowed by the real intent of his visit, the reason why he had clung so tightly to her during their initial greeting hug. Ever since he heard the news of and reason for Jules' status in lock-down, he had been flying out of his mind with anxiety about how she might be taking the event. This anxiety coursing through his veins had been the reason for his poor performance in his post-critical incident psy. evaluation. His anxiety had been so apparent and misread that he had had to agree to weekly counseling sessions as a requirement to his return to Team One. He wouldn't tell Jules about this concession for fear that she would read into the true reason for his poor showing and feel more malignant and misplaced feelings of responsibility for it.

It didn't take long for Jules to pick-up on his hawkish stare of concern and the reasons behind it. She jumped in to pre-empt his clingy effusion of concern. "Look, Sam. I know my track record is currently somewhere between Pinocchio and Bill Clinton on the lying about my condition front, but I really am fine. I'm not even gonna say I'm okay, 'cause we know that word is about as useful as a solar powered flashlight, but I'm deal'n pretty well. I didn't even need Mr. Chuckles to use as a conduit to express myself to my therapist." She gave him a reassuring smile, which she knew he wouldn't buy.

And of course he shook his head. Jules could see that it was probably going to be a long time before anyone believed her when she told them how she was doing. She internally kicked herself for single handedly making a combination of two words completely nonsensical and devoid of meaning by its repeated abuse. The phrase, and any derivative thereof, might as well not exist anymore.

Great. Now she was getting metaphysical about speech. She was glad she'd be out of this place in a few days' time.

She took his hand in hers and looked deeply into his eyes, attempting to see his soul. "I really am deal'n. Please don't worry about me." She couldn't stand to see the worry in his eyes. She knew the concern directed at her had probably skewed his results in his psychological evaluation.

Sam took a deep sighing breath and squeezed her hand. "I didn't know what to think when I heard you were on lock-down. I was just afraid—" He couldn't finish this thought, so he soldiered on to his later concern. "And then when I heard you had to see, be there when. . ." Sam trailed off. This entire situation was making him have the appearance of having some weird form of aphasia in which he couldn't finish his sentences. His love for Jules rendered him speechless, often, and in so many different ways. He looked down at their joined hands, no longer even able to try to explain his fear for her.

Jules forced him to look at him. "It was horrible, but Sean's okay now, probably come'n back here soon." She held his face in her hands. "It was one of the worst things that has ever happened to me in my life, but it made me realize something: I'm not gonna leave you, ever."

At her words, Sam's face lit into the brightest smile, his eyes radiated the light of the Sun. He grabbed her in his arms and gave her another hug, this one strong from unbridled love rather than worry. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear that," he said over her shoulder with his eyes closed. "I love you," he reiterated his actions in whispered words.

Jules' eyes were closed too as she leaned into Sam's shoulder in their embrace. The relief she detected in his voice was like a tonic to her soul. Sam's concern and worry for her was one less burden she would have to carry on her back.

Sam's phone began to vibrate in his jeans' pocket, effectively ending their tender moment. Jules reluctantly pulled away from him. "Geeze, Sam. You're so excited to see me your pants were vibrating."

Sam snorted as he simultaneously kissed her forehead and answer, "Braddock." The smile he held on Jules' face fell after a few words on the other side of the conversation. "Yes, Dr. Luria, I can come back in in an hour." The conversation continued for another half minute before Sam signed-off and hung-up the phone. "I have to go Jules."

Jules pulled away from him, giving him the out to take his leave. "That's a shame. You're gonna miss movie night tonight. We're watch'n _Glass Trap_." She flicked her eyebrows with false enthusiasm.

"What's that," Sam asked with actual interest.

"The Polish translation of _Die Hard_; I don't think the employees here know what they're getting themselves into."

Sam managed to scoff and snort at the same time. "Two questions: A, how'd you know that esoteric fact, and 2, what wanker came-up with that one?" he finished with a rhetorical question.

Jules chuckled as she stood-up with him. "Random fact I learned on Twitter."

Sam smiled, and before turning to leave, pulled Jules in for one last embrace and a quick PG-PDA kiss. "I can't wait to have you home in a few days." Jules returned his sentiment with a deeper press of their hug. She knew the plan was to continue with out-patient therapy for as long as it took to be deemed at least acceptably cured of this malady, but she just couldn't wait to be able to be with Sam every night and to see her friends more often than on supervised field trips.

"And, keep an eye-out," Sam continued. "I know Sarge was planning on coming to see you as soon as he can. He had a meeting with Holleran and some administrative Inspectors this morning, but he should be here any time now."

Jules smiled as she walked Sam to the door. "He probably just wants to pick-up the pop-sickle stick sculpture of Socrates I promised I'd make him last time."

Sam chuckled and squeezed her shoulder before exiting back out into the real world and whatever mystery engagement he had planned with Dr. Luria.

Once Sam was out of her sight, Jules returned to the lounge to continue reading the magazine article with dread. Instead of reading, she stared blankly at the pages in front of her and thought how glad she was that she had apparently convinced Sam of her desires to stay alive. She hoped he had caught the full meaning of her declaration to never leave him. She didn't know where the future of their relationship was going, but she hoped it was somewhere with a ring on it. Maybe even a remote hiking trail devoid of even the luxury of out-houses. That would be niiicccee.

Not five minutes had passed in her reverie when she heard her name called. "Hey Jules."

She looked-up to see Greg staring at her with a sad grin on his face. Oh, no, this couldn't be good. Sarge with a sad grin was never an advantageous sign.

"Hey, Sarge," she stood to greet him. "Surprised you didn't smack into Sam in the parking lot. He only left a few minutes ago."

"Yeah, I figured he'd be heading back to the barn," Greg said over her shoulder as he pulled her into a greeting hug. "Dr. Luria said she was gonna call him right after the meeting I just came from."

Jules picked-up on significance in this cryptic statement. She was willing to bet her next turn to use the drum in music therapy that all would be revealed in the course of this conversation.

"Rough couple'a days, eh Jules?" Greg asked with a façade of fatherly concern on his face to cover the desperate worry he was feeling. Jules couldn't believe he was treating her like a subject who may break at any moment due to the drastic nature of recent events.

Jules sighed. "I have to go through this again?" She slumped before straightening her posture and staring at Greg head on. "Look, Sarge," she began, using her arms for emphasis. "I completely get the gravity of the situation, and yes, I just watched a good friend of mine nearly bleed to death by his own hand while I tried to stop the flow of blood with my own, tiny, insubstantial munchkin hands, but I assure you, I am not on the verge of peacing-out." She took a breath and steadied herself. "In fact, after I went to the hospital and warned this friend that if he tried anything like that again, I'd kick his ass, I reached a certain moment of catharsis."

Jules looked like she was gearing-up to continue her defense and explanation when Greg cut-in. "I believe you, Jules."

Jules did a double-take at the look on his face and raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Are you say'n that to placate me as an irate subject or 'cause you really believe me?"

Greg gave one of his mouth only smiles that usually signaled he was about to give her a mentored lesson. "I don't know if you've heard, but I do profile for a living." His smile turned genuine. "You know, you haven't looked this good for a while." Jules' eyes fluttered back and forth at this revelation. "I can see your fire rather than just your wit. That's my good old Jules."

She huffed. Of course Sarge would be able to read in her face and body language what Sam would only trust himself to hear and believe from her direct word of mouth. Jules smiled. "Then I guess I got your blessing to get outta' here in a couple'a days, huh?"

Greg's prideful smile faded. "Actually," _oh crap_, Jules thought. "That's one of the reasons I'm here." Greg shook his head and made his mouth into a straight line. "Given the circumstances, the higher-ups in the department want to keep you here for at least another week."

Jules shook her head and began to blink rapidly. "You've gotta be freak'n kidd'n me! What the Hell difference does it make at this point if I'm in in-patient of out-patient? It's not like I'm gonna off myself or anyone else now!"

Greg sighed. "I've gotta tell ya, Jules, I agree with you. I don't think you need to be in here full-time anymore either." He paused to place a hand on her shoulder. "But, it's not just you. All of Team One is being treated with kid gloves after all the close calls lately. Luria has demanded monthly check-ins, and Sam's been forced to accept weekly counseling as a stipulation to returning to the team. He tell you that?"

Jules frowned and flicked her eyes upward. "Nah, he was too busy being afraid I'd flip-out or someth'n. But I knew there was something up with him." She paused to analyze the situation. "Does this have anything ta do with Luria be'n ticked at us for do'n our own profiling now?"

Greg frowned at her, "Jules."

"Just say'n." Jules held her hands-up in defense.

"It's more than Luria. Holleran and a few Inspectors directly under the Chief made this call."

Jules tilted her head and smirked, realization lighting her face. "This is political. They're afraid'a what'll happen if the Law Enforcement Professional of the Year presents herself as completely effed-up in public! We're pawns, Sarge." She scowled and shook her head in disbelief.

Greg shot her another prideful smile. Jules controlled the urge to smack it off his face. Angry as she'd become, she was about to explode into a full-blown Irish Psychotic Episode to which Sam was well acquainted, but Greg had only witnessed once. The memory of it scared him to tears, but he continued to smile.

"Even from afar, you can still read people like they're books." Greg was on this track again.

Jules worked to distract him from his quest to get her back on the team. "There's really noth'n we can do? I'm basically stuck in bedlam until the powers that be deem it politically expedient and/or prudent to let me out?"

Greg just stared back at her in response. Jules rubbed her face, but accepted her fate. Although she had no plans to return to Team One, she didn't want to burn any bridges with the department. Even if she wasn't up to taking Wordy up on his offer and asking him to help her into Guns and Gangs, she was sure there was a cushy desk job out there somewhere where a mental leper like her could hang her hat.

"I'm sorry Jules." Greg shook her shoulder in support. He remembered doing the same for Sam in their SUV about two weeks earlier.

"Nah, it's alright Boss," she slipped. "Guess I'm take'n one for the collective bureaucratic team here." She fed him a look of acceptance.

"Well, there's a light at the end of the tunnel." Greg gave her a reassuring smile. "Plus, your doctor told me your friend Sean would be back here in two days."

**Additional Author's Note**: Okay, so during the course of one of our marathon Twitter conversations,** Sules** informed me that the Polish Translation titles of _Die Hard_ and _Dirty Dancing_ are _Glass Trap_ and _Spinning Sex_, respectively. We decided that the people who came-up with these names are wankers and that 'wanker' is a funny word. Therefore, in our next respective chapters, we challenged ourselves to use one of the titles and the word wanker. See what great material you can get from a Twitter conversation!

**Please leave a review and** let me know what you think of this chapter. I thought it was going to be an utter fail until the pants vibrating joke and the Greg-Jules convo. Sam can be clingy, but Jules can't really be clingy (overtly; she can dream of rings and honeymoons. . .), so that was something that freaked me out about writing a chapter like this. But, you must take the little things for your saving grace. . .

Peace,

Eals


	11. The Woman in the Mirror

**Author's Note:** Thanks to all who have been reading and reviewing this story. Your kind words of encouragement and constructive criticism always brightens my day. Here's a chapter that I really wasn't too excited about writing, but knew I had to to make the story complete. It gets into touchy-feely talking in group therapy. Gag. But, I wrote a mirror scene, from which I got the chapter title, which I'm really proud of. Pati, you will notice that I essentially sampled myself for it from OWiM. I have no original ideas. "Man in the Mirror" is my favorite MJ song. That makes me think of a quote from college. My room-mates Jr. year loved Michael Jackson, but I didn't really know any of his music, to which I commented "Michael Jackson must have been big before I got my hearing aids, because I don't remember him at all." Idiot Savant. We had a wall of quotes and the majority of them were from me saying stupidly cute things: "I'm Catholic, that means no sex before marriage" "What about foreplay, Ealer" "Well, I guess that's okay. . ." ANnnnnnd so on. Oh how I miss the apartment F 102. Also, Tweet of the Week, after last chapter, several people asked me what Jules' Twitter name was so they could follow her. I said just follow Amy Jo Johnson, to which **MollyLyn** replied: "That's not the same, Eals, and you know it. Amy Jo would never tweet: Date with Mr. Chuckles tonight, not nearly as cute as Sam." I'm still laughing.

I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint, MJ songs, Maxwell House coffee, Chock Full o'Nuts Coffee, Dollhouse, or Titanic.

Metaphysical Marathon

Chapter 11: The (Wo)man in the Mirror

This place REALLY needed to get rid of all of their not only glass, but metal objects.

Two days since Sam's and Sarge's visits and the revelation that she was essentially a ward of the crown with no free will to make medical decisions for herself at all, she had been roaming the cafeteria looking for something that didn't resemble the regurgitations of a goat or a middle school Home Ec. classe's failed attempt at a soufflé, when someone knocked over a stack of metal bowls. The sound of the resonating clatter had caused Jules to hit the deck and seek cover from oncoming fire or an explosion. Her heart raced and pounded through her chest as maladaptive stress chemicals flooded her brain. She fought to keep herself from mentally returning to the lab, but still began to feel the inexplicable fear and anxiety that so often stole her mind, brain, and self lately. So overwhelmed was she that she ran to the nearest restroom and threw-up the entirety of her stomach contents. She retched for what seemed like hours until she gained control of her mind and emotions, subsequently regaining control of her bodily behaviors.

_What the Hell was that?_ she thought as she slid down the side of the bathroom wall to rest for a moment while she pulled herself together. This had been a new occurrence. She was used to the lightning, haze, panic, but the visceral reaction that triggers the expulsion of all that she had eaten in the past couple of days had been new. She wondered if this was what happened when the mind could no longer take the full-brunt of suffering and farmed it out to the rest of the body to more evenly disperse the agony. That metallic sound of stainless steel crashing to the floor had sounded much too eerily reminiscent of the sound of the metal shelf, a piece of which pierced through her flesh and severed an artery, clattering to the ground after the explosion in the lab. Now, what felt like an interminable time later, Jules reflexively clutched her left arm at the mere thought of that shelf exploding into shrapnel.

Figuring she'd spent enough time wallowing in the ladies' room after freaking out at the sound of kitchen ware tumbling, Jules rose to walk to the sink to wash her face and mouth. While the water flowed through her hands, she looked up at her reflection in the mirror. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen the mirrored image of her visage, but she was sure it had been completely different from what stared back at her now. There were dark circles under her sunken looking eyes. Her face looked longer, slightly aged and weather beaten although it was only the beginning of Fall and not the bleak mid-Winter. Natural blush was missing from her cheeks.

But somehow, she was sure that the face she was seeing was more human than what she might have seen only two weeks ago when she was dancing in the in-between of living and simply existing. There was a fire, a life in her eyes that she somehow knew had been missing for far too long. She realized the long, tired, weathered face in the glass, the one with an unmistakable glint of life, determination, and hope was that of not a victim or wounded soldier, but of a survivor. When she looked in the mirror she saw evidence of her own strength and ability to survive her own personal traipse through Hell. She had been through the fire and come out scathed, but not defeated.

She arranged her features into a slight grin and saw not worry, but laugh lines on her face, a semblance of a return to normality. She took this exercise in external examination as an encouraging sign that although she was still being transported in time through flashbacks, being mentally and physically incapacitated by panic, and wandering through a constant landscape of nightmares in her sleep, she was on the up-swing, close to finding her way back to her own normal state of being and existence in reality. There were just a few certain strides she had to take in baby steps to reach some semblance of her ultimate goal.

Breaking the staring contest she was having with herself after slightly smirking at her visually induced epiphany, she turned on her heel, raised her chin higher than she had been allowing it to hang lately, and strode out of the washroom that had somehow become a temporary haven for her. She was prepared to face the (although highly artificial in this rehab facility) world and leave the confines of a self-imposed exile induced by mental captivation.

Exiting the room, she nearly ran into one of the Gospel name-sake orderlies who was walking beside and presumably monitoring: "Sean!" Jules excitedly exclaimed.

She nearly barreled over Mark the orderly and threw her arms around her friend in greeting. Words could not express how delighted she was to see her strong ally in the witticism front back at the rehab center. Pulling away from the tall, lanky, yet surprisingly muscular man of Gaelic decent, she signaled Mark to give them some space with a reassuring look in her eyes.

"Jules!" Sean responded to the entire sequence of events in surprise. "What are you still do'n here Callaghan? I thought you only paid for a two week stay in paradise."

"Well, ya know, the commanders in the department graciously offered (and by 'offered,' I mean 'ordered') to let me stay here for a n indefinite period of time." She shrugged. "If I was to indulge in a cynical nature I'd'a assumed it had something to do with the up-coming election season, but I actually think they caught wind of how much I love the prison-pancakes and Nut-well House coffee they serve here, soooo much better than Maxwell House."

"Yeah, I did always hove how it tastes like the chicory root coffee they made in the Confederate Army when they had starvation rations at the end of the US Civil War, but," Sean returned Jules' shrug, "I always wondered why they didn't serve 'Chock Full o'Nuts' brand coffee just for the irony."

Jules snorted. "Because that would involve having the staff here getting personality transplants or at least a sense of humor." Jules leaned in to give the appearance of whispering a confidence to Sean. "I think S of H is on the contraband substance list."

"Don't worry," Sean whispered back. "I've developed a tapestry messaging system by which we can communicate without the Gestapo catching on to us."

"Okay, I'll trade my cigarette and chocolate ration for more thread," Jules replied before falling into companionable laughter with Sean. "It's good to see you back in the Dollhouse, by the way."

Sean farrowed his brow. "Yes, I have had the curious desire to 'be my best' since I passed through the threshold." He smiled at their shared avoidant joking references and continued on another track, continuing to avoid any conversation related to the reason for his business week long absence. "Anything fun and happen'n go on here while I was out?" He paused and placed a faux frown on his face. "Please don't tell me I missed the semi-annual sock-hop!"

"Nah, cowboy. That's not until after the Sadie Hawkins dance, which is next week, by the way; get your permission slip signed and I'll let you barrow a dress," Jules joked back, continuing the avoidance dance. "Really, the only big thing was that Mr. Chuckles has gone missing. Big scandal."

Sean smiled at the mention of their familiar reference before frowning in mock concern. "Such a tragedy. Although," he paused to display a look of thoughtfulness, "it's probably just in some 5-year-old's sock drawer."

"Darn kids stealing our imaginary sock puppets," Jules grumbled allowing the evasive humor to last just a little while longer before she directed the conversation towards a more serious matter that she had been rehearsing to discuss with Sean. "Sooo, you're back."

Fantastic. That's a transition that'll set the world on fire (!).

"This fact has been established," Sean said as he tilted his head and widened his eyes as if he was speaking to someone with limited mental capacities. His eyes flashed to a look of horror. "Oh, no! Don't tell me they added short-term memory loss to your diagnosis! Ya know, extreme stress can burn out your hippocampuseseseses."

Jules creased her eyebrows as she smacked him in the arm and frowned with a 'don't be a dumb-ass' look, garnering a stern grunt form Mark across the hallway. "I was attempting to start a deep and epiphanic conversation. And it's hippocampi, by the way," she corrected his intentionally mispronounced piece of brain anatomy. She smiled softly at him before beginning her intended speech.

Before she could begin, a look of actual dread lined Sean's face. It was obvious he didn't like where this conversation might go.

"Just say'n, you're back here for the same reasons as before. Nothing's really changed except the fact that I am no longer gonna aid and abet are mutual reluctance to do what we need to to get outta here with some semblance of sanity."

"Jules," Sean began in a pleading voice.

"Shut-it, O'Brian, I'm talk'n and I have to get this out before the allotment of my emotion sharing courage runs out." She paused to step closer to him and adjust her tone from that of a drill Sargent to one of friendly concern. "You're back here for the same reasons as before. We both are. And if there's one thing I've learned from loving Sam Braddock, it's that things don't just go away."

Sean got a slightly disconcerted look on his face. "Did you just feed me piece of information generally reserved for 'girl talk'?"

Jules shrugged at the realization that she had just initiated an avenue of discussion about how in love she was with Sam as if she was talking to a close girlfriend. "Well, Steve and Spike aren't here, so you get information by default." She lightly patted him on the shoulder and smirked at the confused look on his face before explaining the point she had been trying to make. "My point is, our problems aren't just gonna dissipate through reverse osmosis. You need to start talking; we both do."

Sean's face fell even as he realized the validity of her argument. He began to shake his head. "I don't think I can. Can't open that door and willingly live through that again."

Jules grabbed the wrist that Sean had slashed that fateful day of just a short time ago and forced him to look at her. "We've been through this. You're stronger than you think. And I don't want to talk as much as you don't, but I know I'm not gonna get anywhere if I just let the PTSD dictate when I think about my troubles." She paused to shake her head and raise his wrist to just below his eye level. "And Lord knows I'm not gonna risk letting you go any further into the dark."

Sean briefly closed his eyes and smiled in acquiescence. "You jump, I jump, Jack," he quoted _Titanic_.

Jules rolled her eyes. "Probably not the best lame movie to quote given the circumstances."

Sean grinned as he threw his arm around Jules' shoulders and began to walk in the direction of the lounge and his shadow, Mark. "Don't get linear on me now, Jules."

XXXXX

Later that day, Sean and Jules sat in their mutual first group therapy session since the day prior to Sean's attempt to take his own life. They had formed a pact to both at least try to talk about the events that had precipitated their respective cases of PTSD. In an effort to set a good example, Jules had sworn to take the initiative and speak first. There would be no verbal Kung Fu in this session.

After the mediator had taken the time to embrace Sean by giving a long winded welcome back speech, Jules raised her had to signal she had something to say.

Carly, ever on the verge of opening her giant mouth, looked surprised and askance at Jules' action. Jules thought how she was probably just pissed that she wouldn't be able to completely monopolize this conversation.

"Ah, Jules," the group therapist began in surprise. "Something you'd like to share? Maybe a little about your past, where you grew-up. Sometimes that helps ease people into these discussions."

Jules refrained (using all of her might) from rolling her eyes, but began as promised. "Nah, that's okay. I don't really talk about my past, because it's immaterial; I'm not nearly the person I used to be, and it doesn't define who I am now."

Carly looked even more disappointed from across the room. Jules smirked minutely from the guilty pleasure of not making the obnoxious woman's day.

Jules took a deep breath before continuing and taking the plunge into submerging herself in the memory of the day that still haunted her on her own free will. "But I can talk about my recent past. I can talk about what it felt like to be dying while I felt like I was deserting, failing, my team." There were several audible deep intakes of breath from around the room at the revelation that she had recently nearly died while on the job. Undeterred by the physical reactions she was causing with her story, Jules continued. "I can talk about how I often go back to that day and see my best friends' dejected faces in my head as they watched me bleed to death, hear my Sargent's voice pleading in my ear for me to hold on." A haunted look non-consciously rose to her face. "I can especially see Sam's face." Jules shuddered just thinking about the pain that had been in his eyes. She continued with her tail, not caring if people were lost about what she was talking about. She was in too deep now. There was no turning back. "I stared at him, warning him with my eyes not to take a step near me until he had cleared the room of the civilians. I saw the dead look in his eyes staring back. I was killing him, again."

As eyes began to water at the misery of this story, the therapist cut-in to seek clarification. "What do you mean, 'again'?"

Jules jerked out of her painful reverie to answer this question, but she would have to reveal one of her deepest flaws and fears to do so. "I put myself in the line of fire a lot. I have this natural instinct to try to help people, save people, even if it's unnecessarily dangerous. Sometimes I scare people. People I love. They think I go too far, have an Atlas complex." The entire room was captivated by her story now. "Sometimes it just puts me in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sometimes I try to play my cards right and utterly fail. Like in the lab." Jules had willingly dragged herself back to that dark place in an effort to face her demons. "I had the guy; he was about to fold before he got some disappointing information. I maybe could'a talked him down again, but I couldn't handle the woman who just happened to pick-up a gun. . ." Jules was transported back to those few moments before the gun went off, her life began to shatter. She shook her head, not able to go farther on with this. "So much can happen when you lose control, aren't perfect," she concluded, raising her eyes to Sean to signal his tag-team turn to talk.

Sean took his cue and began before anyone could enquire more about Jules' story. "My story starts in the desert, but I didn't get to ride through it on a horse with no name. . ."

**Additional Author's Note: **The thing about Mr. Chuckles going missing was inspired by the fact that I gave **Justicerocks** permission to use him in Anything I'm Not. If he's busy existing in that story, he must be imaginarily missing in this one. Also, if anyone gets the BtVS quote I inserted in here, you deserve a cookie. Hint: Restless.

**Please leave a review** and let me know how this chapter went. If you thought it was crap, that's okay. The really cool stuff I've been jumping out of my pants to write it coming up soon!

Thanks for reading!

Later,

Eals


	12. Again to Carthage

**Author's Note:** Hello, my friends! Thanks, once again, and eternally, for all those who have been reading, reviewing, and still favoriting this story as well as Mutiny of The Brain. As I've always said, you guys are amazing and just make me want to write some more. I'm a little surprised I didn't get a call-out from **JayJe** for the BtVS quote (!). Also, I want to thank **MollyLyn** and **Shiggity** for always being there for my questions about Canada and Canadian culture. You'd be surprised about the little things that come-up during writing. OKAY! The Chapter(s) I've been waiting to write FOREVER! You've all been faithful, and so have I. I've put my favorite character through Hell all for this final catharsis! So, the title of this chapter actually (to be honest) came from the title the sequel to Once A Runner (probably the best running book ever written, training included; hey, I was a collegiate runner too. That crap was true.), Again to Carthage, although I've never actually read that book yet. "Again to Carthage" is originally a Shakespearian quote from Merchant of Venice. It basically means, 'back to that same old crappy suffering, or war.'

I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint, Billy Joel songs (I wish!), Sabrina, His Girl Friday, or Nerf products. Although, I think I do still have a few Nerf footballs and mini-footballs somewhere. . . Dang I miss those sweet Nerf footballs. . .

Metaphysical Marathon

Chapter 12: Again to Carthage

Jules was now officially well into her third week of recovery at the rehabilitation center. Although she felt like she was making strong strides towards understanding and defining her current state of being in hopes of reaching some level of knowledge that would help her return to her normal existence, she still felt like there was something missing. She felt there was some piece, some gnosis she needed to uncover to even come close to fully reaching her normal state of reality.

She grudgingly realized and admitted to herself that, although incredibly painful, speaking more openly in group and individual therapy was helping her face the reality she was now living through. She didn't like to have to go to those dark places, relive the past that had ultimately broken her, but she knew confrontation was the only manner by which she could exorcise her demons.

Knowing how difficult it was for herself to dive into her wrenching past in order to work passed its haunting effects, she could only guess how difficult these mental exercises were for Sean. As such, while she whole-heartedly continued to encourage him to share his story and speak his mind, she kept a careful, hawkish eye on him to make sure these little excursions into the night didn't drive him to too dark a place.

Jules and Sean were now casually strolling through the front lobby towards a large group assembly in the lounge. The therapists and nurses liked to have occasional meetings with the totality of the clients to share any new announcements and allow clients to air any grievances about the administration of the facility. Sean and Jules still had about 10 minutes before they had to be at the meeting, so thy paused in the lobby to chill around a small area of chairs.

"So, what do ya think, Jules? Should we share our grievances about the cessation of nap time?" Sean asked, initiating a conversation on the absurdity of these group assemblies. In all honesty, these meetings were worse than high school assemblies in that they allowed the clients, the lowly minions that they were, to speak, but only as lip service; the reality was, none of their suggestions were ever given any credence. At least not since Sean and Jules had been there. The clients were just given the 'opportunity' to participate in facility management as a way to feel that they had some control over the proceedings of their institutionalized lives.

"I don't know if we should waste our 'angry young man' complaints on that," Jules responded with a thoughtful look. "I'd much rather bring-up movie night. Although Astaire and Rodgers were brilliant, they might have to send Team One in here to neutralize me after going postal if I have ta see another 1940's musical." Jules actually cringed and seemed genuinely irritated by the thought having to endure another night of foot-loose bliss.

Sean snickered at her unfiltered disgust. "I know. Ginger did everything Fred did, but backwards, AND IN HEELS, but, they're totally diss'n Gene Kelly (!). And," Sean raised his hands to emphasize his false annoyance rant, "would it kill 'em to show a little Audrey Hepburn? I hear _Sabrina_ is BRILLIANT!" His words elicited a smile from Jules.

"Knowing her, Carly probably brow-beated for the 'Astrodgers' marathon," Jules replied, inadvertently giving Astaire and Rodgers a relationship shipper name. "Speaking of Carly (With a 'C' (!))," Jules continued on another track, "I don't think she has words to express how annoyed she is that she doesn't get to monopolize at least two thirds of the conversation anymore." Jules' face lit into an evil grin. "It kind-a gives me a perverse sense of pleasure."

Sean's face fell slightly at the allusion to Jules and him speaking more openly in group therapy. Jules' grin weakened too at the realization of her own reference.

Jules redirected her features before they could become a full frown. "I gotta say, Sean, I do think we're actually getting somewhere by talk'n." She wanted to address this subject, but tread lightly as she didn't want to say anything that might discourage Sean. She smiled up at him in encouragement. "We're finally get'n somewhere, even if it's so hard sometimes."

Sean smirked and snorted at her words before quickly interjecting, "That's what she said!"

Jules couldn't help but snort and laugh herself. "Man! Get your head outta the gutter, O'Brian!" she responded through chuckles and a grin. "Once you're done with this, you need to go to a 12 step program for that; I know a nice Polish girl who could be your sponsor at Perverts Anonymous."

Sean continued to laugh at his own low humor. "Oh, pray tell, Julianna Callaghan, in what circles do you run to be privy to such knowledge and associations?"

She playfully smacked his shoulder, but grinned mischievously. "Wouldn't you like to know?" She paused to flick her eyebrows at him. "Let's just say I wasn't born with a badge stitched to my chest."

Sean jerked his head and smiled as if he was trying to visualize a literal interpretation of Jules' metaphor. Jules looked like she was on the verge of making another crack at his perverted nature when suddenly the front doors of the lobby burst open and a resounding "Everybody, DOWN ON THE GROUND!" was shouted from a gun-wielding, darkly dressed man.

Jules instinctively pushed Sean to the ground and flattened herself next to him.

_No, No, No, No, No_. Her mind was beginning to rebel against her.

"I want EVERYONE IN HERE NOW!" the seemingly deranged man shouted as he waved around a 9mm semi-automatic hand gun. Jules assessed how he was armed and his body language on instinct. "Everyone in HERE!" the man ordered as he grabbed a nurse to use as a hostage. "Everyone in here or this bitch gets it in the head! Just like all you NUTS deserve!" The man unsteadily held the gun to the nurse's head as he shifted from side to side in a paranoid fashion to make sure no one was sneaking-up on him. "You, you, There!" the unstable man shouted at a terrified client lying on his stomach by the now locked doors. "Close the blinds on the windows! And you two!" The subject indicated two of the orderlies, Mark and John. "You lock those hallway doors once the last people are in here." Mark and John remained still, hesitant to leave the innocent clients or turn their backs on the deranged, gun-wielding subject. "Do it, or I kill this bitch!" the subject threatened. Mark and John rose to do as they were ordered for fear of what the subject might do if they remained in their current positions.

"Nuts, crazies, lunatics. . . You're all nuts. Gonna ruin the world. Can't live, can't live, gonna ruin everything," the subject mumbled in a rant as he slightly paced with the now crying nurse in his hands at gun-point.

As the last of the people in the rehab facility (or at least the last of those the subject was made to believe were there) filtered through the two sides of the hallway and into the lobby, Mark and John locked the hallway doors. One of the last people into the lobby was Chris who walked towards Jules and Sean who were lying on the ground.

During the course of all of this action, Jules remained prone on the ground. She could feel it rising, feel that same hopelessness, fear, inexplicable unreality flooding her senses. She felt the beginning of flickers of lightning at the edge of her vision, the beginning of a haze clouding her mind.

"All of YOUR phones, ALL OF YOUR PHONES!" the subject shouted once the doors to the hallway were locked and everyone was on the ground, the nurse still clenched to him by the point of a gun. "Throw 'em in the center! NOW!" He shook his gun on the nurse's temple for emphasis of his command.

In the same motion as tossing his phone into the center of the room, Chris brought his hand to his head and pantomimed a phone to Jules. _Called 9-1-1, _he mouthed to her.

Fighting the haze that was trying to overwhelm her, Jules simply blinked in acknowledgement of Chris's act of valor.

XXXXX

The five men of Toronto's SRU Team One spread-out between the work-out and briefing rooms as they took a break between academic tutorials in tactics and actual drills.

It was their third day back to work after their mandatory week hiatus in which members of the department evaluated them psychologically as they were given time to evaluate themselves. Sure, it had been a tough few weeks of calls, but Sam Braddock thought how the measures taken by the department superiors were a little overkill.

"So Sammy-The-Manny, when we gonna get to see our Girl Friday, Jules, again?" Spike shouted to Sam from his seated position on a workout bench across the exercise room.

Sam smiled as he caught the un-professional mini Nerf football Spike had thrown to him after asking his question. "That depends." Sam smirked, his eyes directed towards the hallway they had last seen Dr. Luria exit from an hour ago. "Maybe Luria will have us all together for a group therapy session on our feelings about being SRU officers and force Jules to be here."

"Hhhmmppphhh. Maybe you two can have some weird form of couple's therapy," Raf snorted from the treadmill on which he was perched. He soon "Ummpphhed!" as Sam threw the mini Nerf ball hard into his gut.

Spike shook his head in Raf's direction. "Too soon, man, too soon."

Sam imagined grinding Raf into the floor with his eyes from across the room. "Rookie," he shook his head, but gave him a 'don't mess with my girl, even with a snide joke' to kill look.

"Boss!" Winnie called for Greg from her station next to the gym. "I've gotta 9-1-1 call from Sunrise Rehab."

Sam's head perked-up in concern as Greg rushed to take the phone Winnie offered him. "Boss, that's where Jules is." Sam's face was full of not fear, but determination despite the desperate set of his eyes. Both Ed and Spike slightly paled at this revelation while Raf showed a visual look of consternation; he had not been on the team long enough to learn how to hide the extent of his fear for his team-mates' lives.

Greg picked-up the phone Winnie offered him. "Hi, this is Sargent Greg Parker of the Strategic Response Unit. What can I do for you?"

There was heavy, fear laden breathing on the other line. "This is Dr. Christopher Trexner. We have a possible hostage situation at the Sunrise Rehabilitation Center." Chris, the caller, and as far as Greg knew, Jules' therapist, paused as the words '_everyone in here, or this bitch is gonna get it in the head_' could be heard in the background. "I have to get in there, but there are approximately 90 people in this facility including clients and staff. I saw that at least 40 escaped through the back doors before the man demanded everyone congregate in the lobby. That's THE LOBBY!" Chris emphasized in a strong whisper. "Please get here as soon as you can." The phone clicked off before Greg could give any instruction.

Without being asked, Winnie hit the 'Hot Call' button and the SRU siren was sounded.

"Jules," Sam breathed.

"I know," Greg responded as they both ran to suit-up.

"Team One, Let's keep the peace, here!" Greg shouted as the members of the elite team raced to prepare to fulfill their callings.

XXXXXX

Jules shut her eyes, fought to remain in control. Sean grabbed her hand in comfort beside her. She fought the lightning in her head, refused to let it claim her, and opened her eyes to see Sean's encouraging face. He smiled at her and squeezed here hand.

This was the last thing Jules needed to steel her nerves for fulfilling her calling. She fought off the lightning, automatic negative thoughts, and clouds in her head and squeezed Sean's hand back in acknowledgement.

With a deep breath, Jules gathered a vestige of her self-assurance and rose with her hands held in the air.

"Hey, my name's Jules. I want to see if I can help you out."

**Additional Author's Note:** Yeah, Jules just stepped-up, BABY! Anyho, the thing about Perverts Anonymous came from my soul sista' **Sules**. We decided that we both need to go to Tweeters Anonymous, but that she probably has to go to Perverts Anonymous as well. It's okay. Larry Toth is with her. We learned this after I informed her that I saw Victor Garber playing a sex addict in _Jeffery_. Hopefully he can make it the week without out you, sis! Also, the thing about _Sabrina_ came from **Playergurl89**. She wrote a piece called **Siberia** that I thought said Sabrina, and, well, all Hell broke loose. . . She may actually write a FP version of Sabrina thanks to my Idiot Savant comments.

As excited as I was for this chapter, more awesomeness is to come! **Please leave a review if you're excited to see the outcome too!**

Peace, love, and Santorini Skies (Akhemm, Pati!),

Eals


	13. This Too Shall Pass

**Author's Note:** Hey, everyone! Thanks, as always, to all of you who have been reading, reviewing, and adding this story to favorites and alerts. I'm so glad so many of you are enjoying this story as much as I am. Just one note for someone who asked, _Sabrina_ was Audrey Hepburn's second film made in 1954 (I believe) right on the tail of her striking success in _Roman Holiday_. William Holden and Boogie were her co-stars. It's pretty sweet; you should totally check it out. Massive chapter here; I didn't want to split it up anymore with all the action, so away we go for the continuation of awesomeness!

I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint, Jell-O, or Catwoman.

Metaphysical Marathon

Chapter 13: This Too Shall Pass

At the sound of Jules' voice, the subject jerked his attention and pointed his gun away from the hostage nurse and towards her.

"You're one of them!" the man shouted. "Try'n to help me is just a trick!"

The deranged subject was still shouting and waving his gun around precariously. Jules knew she had to slow him down, get him from red to yellow as her own heart threatened to beat out of her chest. She was keeping the anxiety at bay, but it was still a bit of a fight. Even if she didn't have PTSD symptoms, Jules was out of practice with this sort of situation. She practiced the sniper breathing that had once saved her life by slowing down her heart rate and reducing the speed at which blood seeped from her body, draining her dry.

She took a slow, hesitant step towards the subject, aware that she was unarmed and not wearing any body armor. "That nurse in your hands, her name is Kathy. Remember, my name is Jules. Do you think you can tell me your name, sir?" She was giving the imperiled hostage and herself humanity while at the same time attempting to establish a connection with the subject. Negotiation one-oh-one again.

The man escalated slightly, threatening to come closer to Jules with his gun pointed now right at her head. "You think I'm gonna tell you? You'll probably use it to kill me in my sleep!"

Jules remained calm, even with a 9mm hand-gun pointed square on her forehead, doing something she had feared she was too incompetent to execute any longer: negotiation. Maintaining her calm demeanor, fighting any anxious emotions threatening to overtake her, she assessed the dispositions of the hostages nearest to the subject. Many of them were crying or shaking with fear. Carly was among them and seemed to be taking the situation particularly hard. Jules would have to lead by example to keep them all calm as well; the last thing she needed was a repeat of the hostage's vigilante actions in the lab.

While the subject was distractedly frantically looking around him to make sure he wasn't going to be attacked, Chris whispered to Jules, "His name is Todd Mercer." Apparently Chris had worked with this man before. Jules gave a nearly imperceptible nod in acknowledgement of receiving this information.

"Can you tell me what you're doing here today? Maybe there's something we can do to help." Jules inched closer to him, keeping her hands raised and her movements as non-threatening as possible.

"Gotta get rid of you crazies," the man responded in a less violent tone.

"Why do you have to do that, sir?" Jules was attempting to learn his motivations while continuing to respect him as a person. She needed to find some way to understand him and connect with him on a personal level. He was obviously having some sort of break from reality, but she didn't know if that was biological or triggered by some stressful event. Not knowing this man from Adam was definitely a hindrance to her.

"They told me I had to. Or else you'll all ruin the world," Todd responded. Jules was glad he was engaging her in conversation, but she still needed more information to understand where he was coming from.

"Who told you that?" Jules paused in her inching forward when she was approximately ten meters away from the subject for fear that he might re-escalate if she came any closer.

"The voices. They come in the night and warn me of what you people will do." The gun was now pointed down and away from both Jules and Kathy the nurse.

Evaluation of psychosis confirmed. "What do the voices tell you we're gonna do?" Jules kept her tone even, curious, respectful, not condescending in any way.

Todd flinched almost as if he was caught off guard by this question; Jules saw a loop hole through which she might reason with him if she convinced him the voices didn't know what they were talking about.

"It doesn't matter. I believe them." Apparently Todd's voices weren't very forthcoming with details.

"Okay Todd," Jules began and before Todd could escalate with some paranoid delusion about how she knew his name, continued, "And I know your name's Todd, because some people recognize you from be'n here before. No tricks." She kept her hands raised and continued to monitor the reactions of the nearby hostages from the corners of her eyes. "If you're here because the voices warned you about the clients, you can let Nurse Kathy go. She doesn't have anything to do with this."

Todd Mercer grudgingly acknowledged the logic behind Jules' words and tossed the nurse down on the ground. However, he raised his gun to point it straight at Jules again. Jules raised her hands up higher to signify her harmlessness. "Thank you for letting Nurse Kathy go, Todd. I want to help you with those voices, Todd, but I gotta tell you, that gun is make'n me and the rest of the people in here a little nervous. People can do stupid things when they're nervous," Jules stated as she thought of the hostage's rash actions in the lab. She controlled the expression of disgust that coursed through her at the thought of the civilian picking up a gun and her own inability to control the woman. Jules concentrated on remaining in the present and not being transported to the past.

"And that gun's not help'n your argument very much," Jules reasoned with Todd. "Do you thing you can maybe put the gun down or at least point it down while we talk?"

Todd nodded his head and slowly began to point the gun down to the ground, but began to move in a semi-circle, getting closer with each step to where an incredibly distraught Carly lay.

"Thank you, Todd," Jules repeated in acknowledgement of his actions, continuing to keep her voice calm and her emotions in check. "We're gonna work this out."

XXXXX

Sirens wailing, the five remaining members of SRU Team One pulled into the parking lot of Sunrise Rehabilitation Center in their SUV's, followed by their Mobile Command Truck.

Jumping out of their SUV's, Greg and Spike immediately ran towards the command truck. "Ed and Raf, scope out the perimeter in relation to the building layout Spike gave you. Spike, see if you can patch us into the CCTV feeds and give us eyes," Greg commanded his team.

Spike, Ed, and Raf nodded and headed to fulfill their assignments as Greg stood just outside the truck door and signaled for Sam to join him. He covered his mic with his hand and signaled for Sam to do the same. "Your head in the game, Sam?"

Though worry and concern slightly lined Sam's face, he nodded his head and calmed his features. "I can do my job, Boss."

Greg nodded in reply, taking his hand off his mic. "Find a sierra position and set-up a perch with a heat seeking lens to see through the blinds." Greg replaced his hand on his mic. "And don't get trigger happy, Sam," he warned knowing that Sam's instinct to protect Jules had the potential to overwhelm him.

Sam stared Greg straight in the eye and replied, "Copy," with his hand off his mic before adding, "I can do my job, Boss," once more with his hand over the sensor.

Greg nodded his head with confidence in his officer as he turned and entered the truck.

"Sarge," Winnie chimed in. "We've got reports that the subject is Todd Mercer. He was a client at the center, but quickly sent-out to a more secure psychiatric facility after he showed signs of significant psychological impairment.

A chill ran through Greg's bones at the mention of the subject's significant psychological problems. He feared how this eerily reminiscent scenario could severely affect Jules. "Thanks, Winnie," he pushed his paternal feelings of worry aside to focus on the task at hand. "See if you can get ahold of his psychiatrist to get any information on him and his diagnosis."

"Copy, Boss."

"Sarge," Spike called from his seated position next to a standing Greg. "I've got a visual."

Greg directed his attention towards where Spike pointed and took-in a shocked intake of breath. "Jules is in the line of fire and talking," Spike narrated.

Despite his concern for her safety, Greg smiled to himself. "Of course she is, Spike. She's negotiating." Greg could not express how proud he was to see his protégée doing what she claimed she couldn't do anymore.

Greg's pride was soon overwhelmed by practical fear. "But she's alone without a vest or a second with a mentally unstable man pointing a gun towards her." He didn't like the logistics of this situation one bit. A nearly imperceptible sharp intake of breath could be heard from Sam at the revelation of this information.

"Eddie, we need ears in there," Greg ordered on the edge of sounding frantic. "Also, see if there's any way we can get her an earwig." Greg's last order even sounded hopeless to his own ears. With the gunman's attention completely focused on Jules in a brightly lit room with dozens of hostages, there was virtually no way to get an earwig to her for communication.

For the time being at least, Jules was on her own.

XXXXX

As she heard the familiar sound of the sirens of the SRU SUV's fill the air outside the facility, Jules felt a minor sense of ease was come over her; although she had successfully talked the subject down from red to yellow, he was still mentally unstable with the possibility of becoming volatile at any moment. Especially with the potential and unpredictable actions of what Jules estimated to be at least 35 hostages. She hoped the SRU team that just arrived outside would quickly devise a plan of action and diffuse the situation. Until then, she would have to attempt to talk down the subject herself.

"So, where did you come from today, Todd? Someone has to be missing you right now," Jules asked, attempting to direct Todd's thinking towards familial connections and obligations, which often kept people from following through with dangerous plans.

Todd Mercer didn't answer, but continued to inch closer to where Carly was lying prone.

Jules continue to push. "Come on, Todd. There's gotta be someone. Family or friend?" She directed her eyes briefly on Carly who was becoming more and more distressed as Todd edged closer to her. Jules continued to try to draw all of Todd's attention directly on her and keep him from getting any closer to Carly. "Come on, Todd. Look at me. There's gotta be someone out there for you. Everyone's got someone."

Todd paused and began to shake his head. "No one. I've got no one who'll understand." He shook his head harder and resumed his semi-circular arch towards Carly. Carly began to visibly shake.

"Why don't you tell me, Todd? Help me to understand." Jules somewhat desperately attempted to make Todd pause once more.

But at the end of Jules' pleading request, Carly jumped-up screaming, "NO, No, no, no, NO!" and began to run across the room towards what she presumably thought was safety. Before Jules could react, Todd raised his gun and tracked it on Carly's movements, his finger on the trigger.

The second Carly began to run and Todd began to trace her in his cross-hairs, Sean rose violently and started running towards Carly. "Carly, NO!" he shouted at the same time as Todd fired the gun. Sean had jumped just in time to push Carly out of the way and take the bullet intended for her himself, effectively saving her life.

"Nuts, Nuts, can't trust you, you're all NUTS!" Todd ranted through the whole sequence of events.

"Sean!" Jules shouted in shock before turning her attention back to the now violently red Todd. She had to put her concern for Sean momentarily behind her and calm Todd down before he shot anyone else in his agitated state. "Look at me, look at me, Todd! Just focus on me!"

XXXXX

"Two minutes away from getting ears, Boss," Ed reported from in front of one of the facility windows on which he and Raf were positioning an auditory device.

"Copy that, Eddie. Sam?" Greg attempted to establish his team's status from within his command post in the truck.

"Sierra One in position," Sam's cool sniper voice responded.

"Boss," Winnie interjected. "I talked to Todd Mercer's psychiatrist. Todd was a UN worker in Afghanistan who was captured by a terrorist cell and tortured into insanity before he was rescued by a ban of American Special Forces troops. He's been in and out of psychiatric facilities with severe psychological impairment, including schizophrenic breaks, in the five years he's been home. Three months ago, his family decided they couldn't take care of him anymore and signed him into government institutionalization permanently." Winnie ended her report on a sympathetic sigh.

Greg internally shuddered at the revelation of this information. "Thanks, Winnie." He paused to compose his thoughts and take a good look at Jules on the monitor in front of him. His fear for her in this situation was increasing by the minute. An insane subject would not be good for her own now delicate psyche. "Alright, team, we've got an unstable torture survivor who could become violent at any moment. Let's proceed with caution."

As if to punctuate Greg's evaluation, the sound of gun-fire immediately rose through the air.

"Shots fired, shots fired! Fall back, fall back!" Ed shouted to Raf and a few uniforms who were close to the building.

"I have the solution!" Sam attempted to report in a calm tone. However, his voice portrayed his terror.

"Copy that! Stand by, Sam! Eddie! Get men those ears!" Greg ordered, now frantic himself. "Winnie, get EMS on stand-by!"

"Boss," Spike spoke calmly. "Look at the screen. Jules has already got the subject's attention right on her. The gun's trained down again." Spike punctuated his own sentence with a smile at the corners of his mouth.

Greg's frantic worry was replaced by confidence in his temporarily sidelined officer.

"Want me to see if we can get him on the phone, Boss?" Spike asked, almost challenging as he continued to watch Jules on the monitor.

"Negative, Spike. I think Jules's got this. Go join Ed and Raf for if we need entry," Greg commanded, a prideful smile lighting his face.

"Ears in, Boss," Raf reported.

"_I just need you to listen to me, Todd. Just look right here and listen to me,_" Jules could now be heard negotiating over all of Team One's comm. links.

Greg sat in Spikes newly vacated chair to watch his protégée at work, doing the job that she had so adamantly declared she was no longer competent for with her usual innate brilliance.

XXXXX

"Just look at me, Todd. Focus on me," Jules cajoled the subject. Stunned at his own actions, Todd turned his attention square on Jules and pointed his gun downward. "Look, I know you didn't mean to shoot my friend. I can see it in your eyes. Pulling the trigger is harder than it looks on TV; I know that from personal experience," Jules came the closest she would come to revealing her occupation. Todd nodded his head in acknowledgement of her words. "Sean, status," Jules called-out when she was sure Todd was calmed down enough.

"Ahh," Sean began with a moan. "I'm good, Jules. Bullet went clean through the shoulder. Feels worse than it looks," Sean joked. Jules internally smiled at his ability to be a wise-ass even bleeding from a bullet hole. "And Catwoman Carly here is good too."

"Copy," Jules responded with relief, not taking her eyes off Todd for a second. "Look, I just need you to listen to me, Todd. Just look right here and listen to me." Jules used her still raised hands to signal Todd to focus directly on her. By the end of this day, Jules knew her arms were going to feel like Jell-O from holding them up so long. Todd heeded her request and continued to stare only at her to the exclusion of all the others in the room.

"Look, Todd. I know you've got some confusing mission now to get rid of all the 'crazy people,'" she actually used air quotes. She had come full-circle from her initial interview with Chris. "I know what it's like to be so confused. I've been pretty confused myself lately," Jules established a connection with the subject. "But the truth is, Todd, every last person in this room, client or staff, is exactly the same. We're just human. Imperfect. Breakable." From 10 meters behind her, Chris perked-up at the words of Jules' speech. "We sometimes hurt others and sometimes Get Hurt by others. We fail at things; sometimes think we couldn't do anything right ever again. It's all part of the definition of our existence. It's the cost of our humanity." Jules shook her head slightly, placing her words into the context of her own life and the metaphysics of reality.

She lifted her head higher and smiled at Todd. "But in our humanity, even with our faults and fail'ns, we sometimes get flashes of brilliance; moments when we did everything right, moments when we righted a wrong. And that's part of the definition of our existence as humans also." Jules paused to share the smile she was offering to Todd in her negotiation with herself. "We get these moments, Todd, because we're not alone in the world. We have other imperfect people to pull us up when we're down, mend us when we're cracked." Jules thought of the people who did this for her in her own life. Sam and Sarge, Ed, Wordy, Spike, Raf, Steve, Chris, Winnie, Sean. She had so many people to be thankful for. "'Cause we might break, but that doesn't mean we can't be fixed, can't get back to some of those flashes of brilliance."

From outside the rehab facility, Ed, Raf, and Spike became thoughtful at the words they heard Jules utter over their comm. links. Sam's finger inched back from the hair trigger of his rifle. A smile and tear of pride brimmed Greg's face and eye as he watched and listened to the person he considered a daughter simultaneously talk-down a volatile subject while thinking her way out of the pain he'd watched her go through for over a month.

"Some of us in here are broken from our humanity, but we won't be forever, Todd!" Jules assured with confidence, believing her own words. "Because we've got each other." Jules began to take slow steps towards Todd's enthralled person.

"Ya know, Todd, Buddhists have this saying, 'this too shall pass.' Alott'a people think that's talk'n about life, but I think it means suffering." Jules paused in her speech and movement as she was now three yards from the subject.

"And I know you're suffering, Todd," Jules nodded her head. "That's why you're here today. That's why most of us are here today." She indicated the people around them with one of her raised arms. "But there're people who want to help you, help all of us." She gave him another reassuring smile. "You and me, Todd, we're the same. We all are," she waved her arm towards the hostages in the room once more, "because we're all just human." The reality, both negative AND positive, of her own imperfect humanity dawned on Jules herself again and she smiled softly before her face became more stern and serious. "And I don't know what those voices are tell'n you, but I do know that none of us has to be kill't for our own humanity." She began to reach her hand towards him. "We're all gonna die someday because we're human, but none of us have ta die because of our humanity."

Todd seemed to be absorbing the words of Jules' speech. "So please, Todd, just hand me the gun and let me help you get the help you need to find those moments of brilliance again," she reached her hand closer to him.

Todd shook his head at himself and placed the gun in Jules' outstretched hand. Jules immediately and instinctively followed protocol and trained the gun back on him.

"Now just kneel on the ground with your hands behind your head so the cops know not to hurt you when they come in," she ordered in a strong yet ironically gentle voice.

Todd began to comply, but before he was fully on the ground, John the orderly half tackled him and pulled his hands behind his back. "It's okay, buddy. Just relax. I've got you," John spoke softly to him.

Seeing the resolution of the situation on the monitors, the members of Team One quickly entered the building to apprehend the subject.

With the gun still slightly raised until Todd was taken into custody, Jules jerked her head and smirked at John. "Thanks for the back-up, John."

John stared at her military firmly and gave her a quick nod. "Always got your back, Constable Callaghan."

**Author's Additional Note:** So, as I told some people on Twitter (or something) I got the idea for how Todd went insane from what Angel did to Dru on Buffy. Heehee. It had to be something sympathetic. Also, I knew in this chapter that Carly HAD to be the one to freak out and that Sean had to be the one to save her. Yeah, our boy's a hero again! I personally also loved the little bit of sap Greg had when watching Jules successfully negotiate again. And the fact that John always has her back. Yeah, I couldn't wait to write that. I hope the negotiation resonated as well as it needed to and paved the final catharsis for Jules in the combined stories of Mutiny of the Brain and this one. Next chapter, Carly is going to have a bit of a catharsis herself, which Sean and Jules will just have a ball with, of course. I might even call it Carly's Catharsis just for fun.

**Please leave a review** and let me know what you think of this chapter, especially Jules' negotiation speech. That was the thing that was freaking me out the most about this chapter, because pretty much the whole story was driving towards it.

Thanks for reading and peace,

Eals : )


	14. Normal Again

**Author's Note:** Hey guys. Thanks, as always, to all who have been reading, reviewing, and what-not this here little tail. I'm so glad that many of you found the negotiation speech of last chapter powerful and even inspiring. It took me so long to write this chapter, because as many of you, I'm sure, I have been working through the stages of grief at the information that season 5 will be the last of this wonderful show. I was so ticked and depressed earlier on that I knew chapter 14 would end-up being: "And having renewed her confidence, Jules returned to the SRU. However, on her first day back, someone blew-up the SRU headquarters and everyone died. THE END." So, I gave it some time. I'm still really sad and stuff and junk, but I'm so grateful to have meant so many awesome people from being a fan of this show. We've made a pact to stay in touch even after the show ends. The phrase 'hanging Todd' I use in this chapter is a reference to the famous 'hanging chads' of the 2000 US Presidential election in Florida. Also, the name of this chapter came from an episode of Buffy in which Buffy was in a mental institution. I won't spoil it here, but it's one of the best episodes of the show, and I've wanted to make a reference to it in some manner in this story, which obviously takes place in a mental institution of sorts.

I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint, X-Men, Spiderman, or Buffy.

Metaphysical Marathon

Chapter 14: Normal Again

As Ed and Raf hand-cuffed Todd Mercer, they were all smiles for their team-mate who continued to cover them with Todd's confiscated 9 mm hand-gun. "Nice job, Jules," Ed praised as he slightly man-handled Todd and handed him off to Raf to be taken to a uniform for transport and processing. Jules simply smiled and nodded in return.

"Yeah, I'm sorry I left my dream journal in the truck. I wanted to take notes on that negotiation for a song I'm thinking of writing," Raf added before smiling once more and turning to go with a now slightly catatonic Todd.

"Raf, the moment you start writing songs about hostage negotiations, I'm gonna have YOU committed," Jules called after Raf's retreating form before turning to Ed. "Ed, you mind take'n this gun in to be bagged? I've gotta go check on my friend." The subject contained, Jules' mind was now completely focused on Sean's wellbeing.

"Sure, no problem Jules. And Boss said he's gonna come in here after he's done talking to some administrators of this place about what just happened," Ed informed while he took the gun from Jules. He paused before leaving and gave Jules one of his rare proud big brother looks. "Really, good job, Jules." He patted her back. "No one should ever doubt you." This was the closest he'd ever come to admitting he was wrong for wanting to keep Donna over Jules when Jules was fighting to recover from a gun-shot wound and return to the team.

"Thanks, Ed," Jules said bashfully as she turned to walk towards where Sean was being loaded onto a stretcher. Before she could walk two steps, she was nearly tackled by Spike with a half hug (his other arm being occupied with totting an MP-5 assault rifle). He apparently had just run over from where he'd been covering Ed and Raf from across the room.

"Oooophhh," Jules grunted on impact.

"That was great! And, I've missed you!" Spike killed two birds with one stone with child-like enthusiasm before giving Jules a big smile and turning to return to the truck to close-down all of the computer programs he had opened.

Jules smiled to herself at the joyful salutations of her team-mates. They'd apparently welcomed her back into the ranks with open arms.

As she approached Sean, who smiled at her and appeared to be preparing to tell her a joke, she saw one of the paramedics attending to him was, "Steve! What are you stalking Team One now?" Jules joked as she playfully smacked him in the shoulder. As she did this, a look of recognition dawned on Sean's face.

"Well, I do admit that I keep an ear out on the radio for any SRU calls, but really, Jules," Steve gave her a friendly concern smile, "when I heard there was an SRU call at Sunrise Rehab, you know I HAD to be here." He shook her shoulder. "You and hostage situations, Jules." He shook his head with an admonishing smile.

"Hey! This time I just happened upon it, I wasn't dragged into one by some heroic paramedic with Spider Sense for dangerous situations," she teased him in return. "Besides, I'm not the one stalk'n a SWAT team," she grinned evilly at her own jest.

Steve assumed a position of mock annoyance. "'Hey' yourself! Team One knows I've always got their backs."

Jules smiled back at him. "Yeah, that's true. You are sort-a like our mascot now." The fact that she had used the possessive 'our' without cringing or feeling like an imposter was not lost on Jules. "And plus, I hear Sarge has you on speed-dial, so maybe you'll even start going mall-shopping with him," she continued to teas alluding to their somewhat frequent shopping dates to the mall.

Steve's face lit-up at her reference. "Speaking of which, once you get out of here, we really do have to go on a mall date. I'm thinking that pink shirt you convinced me to get last time really isn't as stylish as you said." Jules smirked at his words. She'd only convinced him to get that shirt for a potential razing point in the future. She could only imagine what his paramedic and firefighter buddies said to him when they saw him wearing it.

"You got it," she promised as she turned her attention back to Sean, but still addressed Steve. "How's our boy, 'The Human Shield'?" she asked with concern, inadvertently giving Sean a really lousy X-Men superpower name she realized.

"I'm—"

"Zip-it, O'Brian!" She turned back to Steve to receive a report.

"Clean shot to the shoulder, but he's still lost a lot of blood. I don't think there'll be any nerve damage, so he should be able to get back full mobility soon." Steve took another probing look at Sean's shoulder. "I'm guessing he won't need surgery, but they'll still probably keep him over night just in case."

"Steve," another paramedic called from across the room. "We need some help with checking for heart palpitations over here."

"Probably just panic attacks; might need oxygen," Steve mumbled to himself, preparing himself for the situation. He turned to his partner. "Take care of Mr. O'Brian here. He's Jules' friend." Steve smiled at Jules one last time and patted her shoulder before leaving to help the other patients.

Sean smiled slyly to Jules as Steve's partner continued to give him an IV before temporarily patching his shoulder. "Steve, as in 'girl-talk Steve.'?"

Jules conceded a smirk back at him. "Yeah, and also my old high school friend and kind-a ex-boyfriend." She shrugged. "I apparently have a thing for befriending hot guys with 'S' names. Although," she became thoughtful. "Now I guess I'm gonna have to add taking bullets or jumping on grenades for people to my list of criterion." She thoughtfully tilted her head and looked up towards the ceiling at the thought of this hypothetical criterion.

Sean's smirk turned to another one of his eyebrows raised loony grins. "You think I'm puurrrrt-y. In fact, I bet if you weren't already taken, you'd go out with me!" he teased her.

Jules smacked his good shoulder. "More like 'pervy,'" she teased him back. "And besides, I just always figured you were gay." She shrugged in a sarcastic, teasing manner.

"Hey, just because my deepest ambition is to be a women's fashion designer doesn't mean I bat for the other team," he sarcastically joked back having never expressed any such interest nor endorsed such stereotypical views.

"Must be the tight-ass jeans then," Jules raised her hands in a shrugging manner. "A lot of people mistake Steve for being gay too. I think Sam might 'a spread a rumor at some point. No biggie." They shared a laugh at the absurdity of their conversation. Steve's partner stared at the two of them like they'd just arrived from some completely warped transcendental commune.

Sean sobered-up and smiled at Jules. "Man, gun-shot wounds to the shoulder are sooo much better than shots to the head. I was hang'n on ever 'hanging Todd' of that negotiation."

Jules smiled sadly at Sean's reference to the previous gun-shot wound he had received in the war, which he had recently divulged suffering in group therapy; it had inadvertently saved his life. He had been the sole survivor of his unit on a disastrous raid in Afghanistan and was singled-out to be shot in the head close range with a hand-gun and left to die at the end of the battle. However, the bullet had only grazed his skull, yet still left him with slight swelling in his brain and unconscious for three days.

Jules was slightly embarrassed by his off-handed compliment. "Yeah, well, the repeated name thing might sound redundant redundant as it sounds, but it's a technique to help establish a connection with the subject."

Sean ignored her redundancy joke and stared her straight-on with clear, shinning eyes. "That's a deflection, Callaghan." He smirked momentarily before becoming completely serious. "I don't think I've ever heard something so beautiful, clear, and simple for the definition of our human condition and our ability to be mended from a broken state. You didn't just get someone out of the worst moment of their life with those words, you gave a lot of us hope for the future to become normal again." He reached with pain, evinced by the grimace on his face, to squeeze her hand for emphasis. "Of course, my 'normal' would probably cause me to be institutionalized for _other_ reasons," he returned to his joking nature, emphasizing the word 'other' with an eye and head roll.

Jules laughed at his self-deprecating humor, relieved that he had moved on from the outward praise that always made her a little uncomfortable. "Oh, Sean. You know that particular brand of insanity just gives you brilliance, like Frank Sinatra or Yogi Berra."

Sean's chuckles at being compared to Yogi Berra were suddenly interrupted by a crushingly awkward stretcher hug and giant wet kiss on the cheek from non-other than Carly. "You saved me!" she exclaimed as she continued to hug him.

Sean looked at Jules with consternated fear. He lightly patted Carly's shoulder through his, "Ah, yeah, that's okay, Carly."

Jules silently snorted and used all of the self-control that she could muster to contain her guffaws of laughter. _She might ask you to Prom,_ Jules mouthed to Sean with an evil, teasing grin. _Or at least a tall building, _she additionally thought to herself. She'd save that comment for a time when she could share it with Sean and get his razed reaction.

Carly was in tears of epiphanic ecstasy. "You were so brave, such a hero," she gushed. "You proved to me that not all men are like that monster. I don't see him everywhere anymore," she praised through her tears of joy and gratitude. Jules had to turn her head and bite her hand to keep from laughing. Her effort was so hard, she was going to have to have Steve wrap her bloody hand before he left today.

Steve's partner and Christ finally intervened. "Ma'am, I'm gonna have to ask you to give me some space with Mr. O'Brian."

"Yes, Carly," Chris chimed-in with a hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you come with me so that we can talk about everything that just happened?"

Carly nodded her head as she pulled away, but soon flung herself on Jules, startling Jules into reflecting Sean's previous shocked and awed face. "And you saved us all!"

Jules simply patted her shoulder the same as Sean had done while Chris pulled her off her. "Come this way, Carly."

Jules patted Chris on the shoulder and smiled a whispered multi-purpose "thank you" to him.

A look of relief lit Sean's face as Carly was led away. He stared at Jules' now gleefully exuberant expression in reaction to Carly's embrace of him. "No, Jules," he pleaded before deciding to turn things into a joke as per usual. "You just don't understand our complicated love."

The paramedic gave Jules a nod, signaling Sean was ready for transport. Jules gave a comforting smile to Sean. "Looks like they're ready to take you to the hospital." She gave him a paternal look. "Now there's nothing to be scared about. Once the doctors fix you up, I'm sure they'll give you a nice big lolly-pop."

"Well, if you say so, Mom," Sean responded with a soft, child-like voice before returning to his normal 'dulcet' tones. "It's probably just as well. I'm starting to feel light headed from blood loss. You'd think there would be more 'rush' in the 'rushed to the hospital' thing."

Jules kept her face neutral to this light headed information. "Oh, come on, Sean. We all know you're just light headed from that kiss from Carly," she replied as the paramedic began to wheel him out. Sean gave her a conspiratorial look in return.

Just as he was being wheeled out the door, Sean called back to Jules, "And 'The Human Shield' sounds like some lousy X-Men superpower name!"

Jules laughed at her and Sean's synchronicity of thought before she saw a frantic looking Sam enter the building. He immediately spotted her and relief washed over his face as he took quick and long strides to reach her. He nearly tackled her with a bone-crushing hug. He restrained himself from giving her a strong and passionate kiss by simply kissing her forehead.

In surprise, Jules mumbled, "Um, welcome," just as she had four years before after he had barged into her locker-room after the call in which she'd been smashed into the media tower.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Sam breathed into her hair. It had been nowhere near easy knowing the love of his life was trapped in a negotiation with a mentally unstable gunman with no body-armor or back-up. His confidence in her ability to talk the man down had never wavered; it was the unpredictability of the situation that scared the living daylights out of him. He pulled away from her so that they could talk face to face, but still held her in his arms, her tangible presence anchoring him to his sense of relief. "That was one awesome talk-down, Jules."

"Sierra One?" was Jules' questioning reply.

Sam chuckled softly at her all business attitude. "Yeah. Heat-seeking lens from a perch on top of the truck.

"Nice," Jules gave her signature response. She didn't want to get into any deep discussions with Sam on fear and confidence in such a public place in the direct aftermath of the event. Therefore, she tried to keep the conversation neutral. . . or one to two worded, apparently.

Seeing Sarge enter the building, she somewhat reluctantly pulled away from Sam's strong and comforting arms completely. "I've gotta talk to Sarge now, Sam," she dropped him a hint.

Before she could pull completely away, Sam pulled her back and whispered in her ear, "I love you. I'll talk to you soon." She squeezed his hand to reciprocate his words and stood her ground to await Greg's arrival.

"Sarge," Sam said in greeting as he turned to go. The two men shared a brief look of mutual acknowledgement. The words of Jules' speech seemed to have signaled the successful completion of the pact they had made three weeks prior. Greg patted Sam on the back as he passed.

Greg stopped in front of Jules, a bit of an 'I told you so' grin on his face. Jules took a deep breath. She wasn't sure where Greg was going to go with this conversation. "Hey, Sarge."

Greg placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a prideful smile. "That was some talk for a person who didn't think she could negotiate anymore."

Jules sighed. Even with her successful negotiation, she still wasn't sure if she should rejoin Team One. Her epiphany that she was a broken person who COULD be fixed didn't completely return all of her confidence. "Yeah, a stopped clock is right twice a day."

Greg frowned marginally at her words and forced her to look him straight in the eye. "You listen to me, Julianna Callaghan, and you listen good," he commanded. "There's no one who could have talked that guy down like you did today. And without armor, or a second, or cover." He paused to shake his head in wonder. "I don't know how you do it, but you just do. You're the best I've ever trained, maybe even the best I've ever seen! And one day, you're gonna have the Sargent strips and be training your own protégées." He placed his free hand on her other shoulder and gave her a reassuring shake. "I could not be more proud of you and the person you are than I am now." Tears brimmed Jules' eyes at his touching words of confidence. They helped spur her to regain her confidence in herself. "But I know you'll find a way to surprise me and make me eat my words and be more proud of you then ever sometime soon."

"Thanks, Boss," Jules chocked out through an emotional throat. She called him 'Boss' with no qualms, feeling she was sending no mixed messages. She felt like her state of mind was finding its way home to normality. And temporary uncertainties aside, she knew Greg would always be there to help her find her proper footing.

Greg gave her another quick shake before releasing her. "Now, it's time to debrief," he said as he turned for a reverse entry to pick-up the rest of the team and assemble them in their SUV's.

Jules remained rooted in her spot.

Greg looked over his shoulder at her. "You come'n, Jules?"

Jules was confused. "I think they want the clients to stay here for some kind of their own debrief."

Greg turned around fully and took a step back towards her. "Officer Callaghan, you are not a client of this facility. You are a member of Toronto's elite SRU Team One, and I expect you to debrief with the rest of your team."

Jules smiled at his commanding tone and tentatively began to follow him. She WAS a member of Team One, and that's where she needed to be. "Copy that, Boss," she replied as she walked out into the light and back into the life she had so drastically strayed from, stronger and wiser for her struggles.

**Author's Additional Note: ** The whole thing about Jules joking that she figured Sean was gay actually came from the fact that when I was developing his character, I briefly flirted (for all of about a minute) with making the character gay. But I realized that would have been a total lazy cop-out: What, Jules isn't capable of having a completely plutonic relationship with a heterosexual man who's not her team-mate? That would have just been poor cop-out writing, and making him straight opened-up so many new avenues for jokes and things. Now I'm really glad I didn't as I fell in love with him, and now the only thing keeping us from being together is the fact that he's imaginary. . . well, that and the threat of voodoo dolls from **Playergurl89**. Also, **Sules** and I have this whole running inside joke that Jules treats Steve like her gay-BFF and that people randomly mistake him for being gay for no REAL reason what-so-ever. Also, **Sules** thinks he has an affinity for pink shirts. Thus, happy birthday, Big Sis! That little tid-bit was just for you! This chapter is out tonight rather than some indeterminate time in the future all thanks to the encouragement of **MollyLyn**. : )

**Please leave a review** and let me know what you think of this chapter. Jules couldn't be completely healed without some input from Greg, and I just loved giving Carly a chance for her own catharsis, her manner of expressing which Jules found completely ridiculous. Please let me know what you think.

Peace,

Eals


	15. In The Shadow of Your Smile

**Author's Note: **Welp, here we are. I thought I'd just have to write an epilogue, but, hey look (!), Sam and Jules love each other! So, this chapter now herein was supposed to be like three paragraphs, but of course when I base a scene or chapter on 4 lines of dialogue it becomes 1900 words long. Me and my cerebralness, cerebralnocity, cerebralmalphesanse; guys, this is like one of those chose your own ending books (that I never found in the book store and always felt inferior to my friends for them having one), chose your own cerebral word. Oh, last chapter I forgot to point out my little trick with 'S' names. Jules went from a convo with Spike, to Steve, to Sean, to Sam, to Sarge. I was being what Pati would call a "cheeky monkey." Also, the name of this chapter comes from the name of a jazz song. I love the imagery and always try to use it.

I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint, Wonder Woman, or Mr. Wizard. Dude, if you didn't watch Mr. Wizard when you were a kid, your life is seriously lacking. Youtube it. AJJ would probably approve as I presume it might have been filmed in New England. Seriously, I heard a couple of kids on the show say "wicked!"

Metaphysical Marathon

Chapter 15: In the Shadow of Your Smile

Jules stared wide awake at her alarm clock. It was 5:25 am; she had set it to go off at 5:30.

She had awaken early, but not because of some dreadful nightmare or panic attack. She had intentionally awakened early so that she could take tangible pleasure in being consciously aware of being held in Sam's arms.

The feel of his bare-chested muscles against her back made her smile. His arm wrapped around her mid-section made her snuggle, ever so gently so as to not awaken him, closer into his embrace. She waited . . . on cue, he unconsciously pulled her even closer in his slumber. She smiled again. Even unconscious, Sam was drawn to be closer to her. Yes, it was definitely worth setting her body clock a few minutes before her alarm clock.

She sighed in contentment, closing her eyes to the ever encroaching time that would violently throw her back into reality with its Hellish clamor. Moments like these, safe in his arms, his sniper-slow beating heart so close to hers, her ability to recognize and respond to these sensations, had made her past week home from the rehab facility one of the best of her life. She cherished the simple things. And, she knew that her struggle through Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and living in a mental hospital were all worth it. Her eyes were open, like blinders or pastel glasses had been taken off. Never had she seen more, never had she felt more. She was born anew in her love for life, which only helped her to love Sam more deeply than she ever thought possible.

The clock read 5:29 when she checked through her eyelids.

Sam made his own, though slightly comatose, sigh of contentment.

Yes, she loved him and all the beautiful things her life was filled with: Sam, friends, family, the joy her job gave her in saving lives. . .Even if she did have to go through Hell to fully appreciate this, it was well worth it. It was all more than well worth it. Especially the tingle of her nerves while his hand gently stroked her skin in sleep. Gestalt: by his touch, she knew that life was truly more than the sum of its parts.

She smiled again, snuggled what seemed to be an impossibly even closer amount of distance to Sam, and closed her eyes, breathed in his familiar scent as she did so to re-catalogue it in her senses for another moment of bliss. . .

Just after she closed her eyes, the alarm sounded, shattered, that screeching tone of death. Truly, there was no worse sound in the world than the bells of the dreadful torture machine. Not consciously at least. Jules had even placed the 'high' or rather 'super obnoxious, I'd rather be deaf' mode on to make sure Sam would awaken with her.

"Eerrrggg," Sam grunted as Jules hit the off switch. Feeling her in his arms, he soon changed his sentiment. "Hey, Sweetheart," he kissed her cheek from his position behind her while rubbing her firm stomach where his hand rested.

Jules rolled her eyes at his sappiness; Sam was always supper sappy in the wee hours of the morning.

"Hey, yourself, Braddock," she greeted back, turning her head to reach his lips for a good-morning kiss. Sam smiled into the kiss, moving his hand from her belly to the side of her face, firmly establishing her tangible presence in his arms.

He opened his eyes and looked behind her. _5:30? No, that couldn't be right, unless_. . .

Jules turned her head back at the predictable realization of where his thoughts had stayed: in the gutter. However, she took guilty pleasure in knowing she had been the sole conductor in orchestrating these vagrant thoughts.

"Shift doesn't start until 8; we don't have to be in for workout until 7." He began to kiss and nibble softly on her neck. "Good call, Jules." He turned her head back to kiss her on the lips while his hand gently roamed her body.

Jules let him.

The kiss deepened, Sam's hand became more brazen in its wanderings before Jules broke away, with her own sense of remorse at the parting. "Yeah, Sam. Not gonna happen this morn'n." Sam's face looked like she had just told him that the elves all had cancer, Santa had taken-up gambling, and Christmas was canceled. He had no doubt in his mind that she'd be privy to this information. She was Jules.

"What's the point of waking-up at 5:30 am if I can't at least get to third base?" he questioned her with true concern.

Jules smirked at his desolate tone. She decided to play with him a little before telling him her true purpose for the early morning wake-up call. "Third base? Really? Do you really want to start something you can't finish?"

"Who says I can't control myself?" Sam challenged in her ear before trailing a line of kisses down her neck.

She loved his desperation even if it was starting to drive her crazy and potentially force her to renege on her previous engagement. She forced herself to get back into a sardonic mood by rolling her eyes before answering him. "This entire week I've been home and the psychological principal that the best predictor of future behavior is past behavior."

Sam deflated in the shadow of her sarcastic smile. "Damn you and your logic, Jules." He kissed her neck just once more.

Jules chuckled and turned to face him. She kissed his nose and watched as his frown literally turned up-side down. She stroked his face. "It's not you, it's me." Sam did a double take at her words before she grabbed his lips with her own and quickly pulled away to explain; of course she laughed first. "I'm meeting Sean in the park to run before I run from there to work. I'll meet you guys in the gym to lift at about 7:30." She tilted her head at his concerned look. "Sarge is okay with this." He still looked skeptical, but she persevered on. "So, you need to take my gym bag and, well obviously," she gently kissed his nose again, "Jeep."

Sam slid his hand down her back to her tush and slightly pulled her closer, a look of consternation on his face. Physically, he just always wanted to be closer to her, but mentally, he needed to know more. "Jules, not that I don't think you're secretly Wonder Woman or something, but work is about 8 miles away." He paused to give her a loving 'you are the cutest Idiot Savant I've ever know' face. "And the park trail is about 4 miles."

Jules tilted her head, frowned, and genuinely rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the calculations, Mr. Wizard. That's what would make it a 12 mile run and why I'm leaving at 6 am to do it." She lifted her hand from where she didn't even realize she'd left it on his chest to pat his head like he was the star pupil of an 18th century one room school house in Wilmington, DE. She contemplated getting up to give him a cookie. He liked snicker-doodles.

Sam smiled at her jest. He always loved to hear her witty retorts, but the fact that she was emotionally available to him again, now more than ever, was what made him smile even deeper. Truth be told, he was somewhat glad he'd be driving to work alone this morning. There was a special errand he needed to make without her around.

He kissed her forehead. "Sean's okay and out and able to run now?" he questioned. Sam didn't know Sean very well, but he had a feeling the man was going to be a member of their wedding court. No doubt entered his mind that they would HAVE a wedding court together, much less an actual wedding. He really needed to get to know this guy better.

Jules' face lit-up at the mention of her new best friend's name. "Yeah, he's great." She scoffed. "Actually, that whimp is only doing five miles." She snorted sarcastically, bringing an even brighter glow to Sam's face at her mirth. "Some lame excuse like his doctors won't let him do more than that after being shot." Jules shot Sam sarcastic eyebrows and shook her head. He shook his head in camaraderie with her.

Sam thought about the period of time after Jules had been shot and attempted to keep his facial expression neutral. Jules was barely able, even with her defiant heart of gold, to sit-up a week after she'd been shot. The fact that she'd spent 25 hours unconscious after it still chilled his bones. Sean was definitely lucky to only be shot in the shoulder. His bravery for taking the bullet for someone else only impressed Sam more. Of course such a guy would be a good friend to His Girl Jules. Sam could imagine her taking a bullet in the shoulder too if she wasn't negotiating the subject alone with no armor. He internally shuddered at the thought of that situation and thanked God Jules and her friend, who seemed to be such a comfort to her during her most troubling time, had come out of the situation alive. He thought about how if he was a sarcastic as Sean and Jules were, he'd send Sean a fruit basket.

Sam smiled and leaned in to kiss Jules again. He gave a small laugh against her lips. "Yeah, that wuss." He restrained himself from taking her right there by kissing her forehead.

Jules breathed into his neck with his lips against her forehead. She groaned softly. _Damn obligations to people you love other than Sam. . . well, not love like Sam, but, GET YOUR HEAD OUTTA THE GUTTER, CALLAGHAN! _"Alright, I've gotta get up now." She pushed against his chest, relishing in the feel of his rock-hard pecks. "The last thing I need is innuendo jokes from O'Brian." She shuddered at the thought as she rose from bed.

Sam mashed his head violently against his pillow as he stared at her with longing. She turned on her heel after she had picked-up her pre-set running outfit and stared deeply into Sam's eyes. With her new found knowledge, she could see the brightness of his soul shinning towards, lighting the room, but only for her. She chuckled softly. She shook her head as she smiled. "There are so many reasons why I love you, Sam."

She attempted to turn, but before she could take even one step towards the bathroom to change into her running attire, Sam leaped-up from the bed to smash his lips against hers in a crushing embrace. "You know, I couldn't ask for more." He caressed her cheek with his hand as he briefly pulled back to smile at her, sealing a promise with his eyes. The moment was fleeting. Before Jules could return his momentous gaze, he had his lips firmly planted on hers once more.

She smiled and allowed him to kiss her even more passionately than he had while they were still in bed, in early morning bliss. _Screw-it_, she thought. _Let Sean make his obnoxious comments_.

She could probably beat him-up anyway. . .

**Additional Author's Note: **So, I noticed while writing this that I had a couple of Canadians talk about miles. I actually tweeted about: " I just realized I'm making Canadians talk about miles. Whatever. For my purposes, Sam and Jules live in Philly for this chapter!" (Tweet 2, continued): "**KateEals** Kilometers be damned! No one knows what they mean after 10k anyway. *Ugly, smug American face*". . . Yes, I have no shame. **Tirsh** said Canadians get miles anyway, so we're all cool. Also, I made a reference to the Hagley Museum in Wilmington, DE, which is mostly about gun powder production for the Civil War, but also has a cute little one room school house exhibit. The reference to snicker-doodle cookies is all thanks to **Playergurl89**. I still owe her one for catching that BtVS reference. Oh, and the Idiot Savant reference is a reference to me. I am the Idiot Savant extraordinaire of the #Flashpointpack.

I know many of you were waiting for me to **write a REAL JAM chapter, so please review!** Seriously, this is the closest I will ever get to a love scene, but I feel there was more love here than I could write even if I knew HOW to write smut. To start, I will never write smut. Just me and the Irish Catholic-osity in me. **Anyho, Please leave a review! ** And, thanks for reading.

Peace, love, and Phillies baseball,

Eals


	16. Never Alone

**Author's Note: **So, here we are, the final chapter. I'd like to thank everyone who has been reading, reviewing, and placing this story on favorites. Your constant support and 'encouragement' (EKhhhemmm #Flashpointpack) has made writing this story all the more fun. I have to say, this chapter was a little hard to write, maybe because I really want to get into _Glasgow_ and write about brain lesioning and plasticity and Wernicke's Aphasia and stuff (because Wernicke's Aphasia is just such an awesome word that roles off your tongue), but mostly because it will be hard to say good-bye to the Sean-Jules conversations I've had SOOOO much fun writing. But here it is; all good things must come to an end. Hope you enjoy. And Happy Mother's Day to all those Mums out there.

I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint, Guinness, The Little Mermaid, Segway, Gone With The Wind, or Wal-Mart.

Metaphysical Marathon

Chapter 16: Never Alone

Completely flustered and quite pissed at herself, Jules checked her watch again. _Damn-it, 6:37_. She was supposed to be at the water fountain in the park to meet Sean by 6:30. She picked-up her pace to a near sprint. _Damn Sam and his masculine wiles!_ She was going to be sore from this inadvertent combination of speed work and distance session. _That's not the only reason I'll be sore,_ she thought. _Damn Sam and his irresistibility!_

She sprinted up a short rise of a hill and turned a slight corner into the entrance of the city greenery. She spied Sean out in the distance who caught sight of her and shook his head, tapped his watch in admonishment.

"Don't have clocks in your house, Constable Callaghan?" Sean inquired with a raised eyebrow as she ran past him refusing to give him the satisfaction of skidding to a halt before him at his Holier than Thou form.

"Yeah, my watch broke and I don't have any clocks in my house," Jules huffed-out innocently. She was still getting her heart-rate down to conversational pace after her sprint to meet Sean.

Noticing her huffing status, Sean turned his head to examine her more clearly for the potential indication of a razzing point. He did a double take. "Holy—What THE!" he paused for a split second so that he could move around her to run next to her other side, the side with visual evidence of naughtiness. "What's that at the base of your neck?" He started having trouble breathing, not from the run, from laughing too hard. "Is that a hickey?"

At his words, Jules turned a ruddy Irish red in the face. She searched for a topic to divert his attention. He poked at the hickey mark _Damn SAM_ had left as she swatted his hand away. "How old are you anyway, O'Brian?"

Seam was somewhat stunned at her chosen direction of conversation. "Umm, hello randomness, but 28. I spent six years in the service after college." He was apparently so caught off guard by her question from left field that he couldn't come-up with a witty retort. _Damn Jules!_ he thought.

Jules scoffed and frowned in dis-belief. "And you only made it to Corporal? What the Hell were you doing the whole time, knitting parachutes?"

Sean flung his head at her like a diva on the cat-walk. "Only the first four years," he took his turn to scoff at her, "OFFICER Callaghan."

Jules frowned sarcastically at him. "Whatever, man. You do realize I have the most elite job in all of Canadian law-enforcement." She didn't even dignify him with a 'right?' She knew he caught her point.

"Anyway," she continued on her original track. "You're pretty close to Sam's sister Nat's age. She really needs a stabilizing force." Jules paused to scoff to herself at the absurdity of this statement. "Maybe I could hook you guys up."

Sean looked genuinely confused. "How hard did you hit your head during that lab explosion? You do realize I've spent the last month in a mental institution, and it wasn't just for the OH SO FINE one-way conversations with Carly."

Jules jumped to avoid a fallen tree branch that she had nearly stumbled over in the course of concentrating all her energies on the world's largest smirk. (She contemplated calling the Guinness people. For a record, not a beer). "Oh, I forgot to send in my plus-one for you and Carly's wedding. I'm so excited about the Little Mermaid theme by the way." Jules reveled in Sean's resulting laughter. He seemed so normal, so happy. She needed to make sure it was real and not some typical diversionary tactic. "So, how've you been since the whole unintentional group lesson in negotiation? I hope my little speech was more interesting than your copious blood loss."

Sean smirked at the smile that punctuated her question and grew serious. Well, as serious as he could grow. He was still yet to evolve beyond the freshmen in high school sarcasm level. Jules turned her head to stare at him in honest encouragement. "I'm good, Jules. Really good, actually." He smiled at her. "I think I might have found my calling in saving completely effed-up people."

Jules frowned. "Oh God, Sean. Don't hire yourself out as a human shield. I hear the benefits suck."

Sean smiled. "Yeah, I thought about that after I secured my honorable discharge the other day, but," he shrugged within his stride, "the background check is too intense and your buddy Steve was telling me about how great it is to be a paramedic." He flicked his eyebrows at her. "He's actually getting me into the training for it. Said with my military training in emergency first aid I'd be fast tracked." Sean straightened taller and shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, I'm kind-a a savant like that."

Jules rolled her eyes. "Idiot Savant. Maybe you can help me with the 'guess the number of jelly-beans' contest at the SRU next Easter." She frowned in mock annoyance. "Spike always wins with his algorithm methodology."

Sean and Jules continued to banter in a way lifelong friends would for the rest of the run, Jules ever mindful of any twinge or change of color in Sean's face signifying pain. She was ready to tackle him to the side of the trail to force him to stop if need be.

"Well, this is my invalid stop," Sean remarked at the end of the loop. "I have a Segway waiting for me at the corner.  
>Jules chuckled at his joke. "Yeah, I knew you'd be one of the 'cool people' hit'n that up." This time she stopped to stand with him. She paused, smiled, and reached up on her tip-toes to hug him in his apparent surprise. "I'm glad you're good, Sean." She brightened her eyes sarcastically. "You're my 'person'," she said with an affected sappy tone before running off towards the SRU.<p>

"Yeah, well Carly's mine!" Sean shouted after her in jest. Jules looked back at him with a head shake, which only barely contained her mirth.

She checked her watch. 7:09. She had barely 20 minutes to cover the over three miles to headquarters in time. She relished the challenge.

As she ran, Jules thought about how truly 'okay' Sean did look. The best part was she never detected a hint of deflection from him. She frowned. Was that a good thing? He really was that much of a smart-ass. _Huh_.

Jules smiled at the thought of Sean being a paramedic with Steve. She was glad Sean would be able to use some of his military training to continue to help society. He was already a hero by being a soldier, doubled it by saving Carly, and would only continue to be heroic as an EMT. She grunted at her own thoughts. Good thing Steve would be there to keep him in line.

With the SRU now in sight, Jules turned her thoughts to her own mental wellbeing. She thought about how ready she really was to return to work by virtue of what she had expressed to Chris at her last meeting with him the day before.

"So, you've been shadowing the team for a few days now. Tomorrow's the big day," he raised his eyebrows with an encouraging smile. "How are you feeling about that?"

After rolling her eyes, Jules became thoughtful. "Pretty good." She scoffed. "I mean, I don't think I'm a nut in need of a padded cell anymore."

Chris narrowed his eyes at her. He meant business. "What do you really think, given all the circumstances, wise-ass?" He added the last two words for emphasis.

Jules tilted her head at him and rolled her eyes once more before becoming serious. "Actually, with the whole mess, everything before and after these past few weeks," she paused to shrug. "I realize that there's not some secrete pass-word or magical pill to get over this." She smiled at the thought of all of the epiphanies she'd experienced in the past month. "I know this whole PTSD thing is something I'll have to struggle with for the rest of my life." She shook her head. "But, that doesn't mean it has to defeat me, control me, incapacitate me. I can work through it, always."

Chris challenged her with a skeptical look. "How?"

Jules offered her own 'you're an idiot' look. "I don't exist alone in the ether of nothingness. I've got friends to see me through, a few who get where I'm come'n from with this."

Chris sat back and folded his arms. "So in terms of the metaphysics of where you are, your existence?" he prompted bringing her full-circle from their initial discussion.

She smirked at herself. "I'm defined just as any normal person with faults and fail'ns." She shook her head at herself. "I'm imperfect, but mendable. I can help myself just as I help others." She shot him a challenging look. "Guess I'm 'perfectly imperfect.'"

Chris gave her a warm, encouraging grin. "You continue saving people like you saved us, I'll believe anything you say."

His double meaning words had been vindication to her soul. She was breakable, imperfect, yes, but that didn't prevent her from being a hero.

XXXXX

Sam's nerves were in his belly as he entered the SRU building at 7:05. He knew he was in for some teasing for being late, but 'frankly Madame,' he didn't give a damn. He had the most important rock inside his jacket pocket, and that's all that mattered.

As he stepped off the elevator with his and Jules' twin duffle bags in his hands, he heard the immediate ribbing he'd predicted.

"Hey, Braddock, what's your problem, too good for stretching?" Ed enquired.

"Maybe he's had too much stretching, hehe," Spike joked. The entire team, especially Greg and Sam, cringed and reached towards him to smack him upside the head. He flinched in pain. Raf hit the spot where a subject had hit him with a metal crack pipe when he was trying to flee from him on their last hot call. Greg thought how it served him right.

Sam shook his own head. He locked eyes with Greg who smiled in knowing recognition.

"I think Sam has something to share with the rest of the class," Greg prompted. He refrained from adding _'I'm glad it's Jules who whipped you,'_ like he was thinking though.

Sam pulled out a velvet box from his front jacket pocket.

Ed gasped. "Tell me you didn't get that from a 24 hour place like Wal-Mart!" Ed snarled at Sam at the mere thought of his adoptive little sister being treated so lowly.

Sam looked confused at first. Realization dawned on him at Ed, then Greg's, than Raf and Spike's angry looks. "NO, NO, NO!" He bleated out. "No. I had a meeting with this retired jeweler who's trying to get rid of his old stock before he has to sell it to," Sam paused to make air quotes, "some upstart jerk shop." The men of Team One still looked confused, so he continued. "He likes to go out fishing in the mornings, so he asked me to stop by before 7 am." Sam ended by giving them 'now who's the dumb-ass' looks.

Spike nearly tackled him to see the contents of the velvet box. Sam pulled away before he got too close, effectively causing Spike to crash into an adjacent treadmill. "You'll see it on her finger, Spike." Sam shook his head at Spike's demise.

"Awfully sure of yourself, Sam," Greg taunted. Sam shot him a straight look and received Greg's nod of approval in return. Their eyes locked for a moment as they shared a moment to acknowledge their mutual success in helping Jules to get back to her normal disposition. Greg believed she at least earned the right to have happiness with Sam as a reward for making it through the most difficult struggle of her life. "It's a simple matter, really. She'll love it and of course say 'yes.'" Sam smiled at his future fiancé's 'work husband's' approval.

"Now, go change so you don't make things obvious when she pops in here 15 minutes early like the Jules she is!" Greg ordered. He wanted to laugh at Sam's bumbling awkwardness as he left, but he was too excited for the thought of his protégée's impending engagement. If anyone deserved the 'happily ever after,' or at least the realistic equivalent to it, which he'd botched-up with his own wife, it was Sam and Jules. The difference was, he knew they would make it work. He would forever 'have faith' in them, both on the job and in real life.

XXXX

Sam stared at Jules with anxious confidence as the team stood in a semi-circle outside the convenience store where the hot call they were on, a botched robbery turned hostage situation, was taking place. This was her first time back in the field on official duty in nearly a month. He knew she must be nervous, but he had faith that she would be able to make it through the call with the flying colors of strength and greatness that so defined her. Her innate strength and courage, which she had displayed blatantly through her struggle to overcome PTSD, was what made him love her more than anything else about her. And it was this innate greatness that made him a better man just for having her in his life. It was the greatness that had him not nervous, but excitedly ecstatic, to get down on one knee when their shift was over tonight and ask her to share the rest of her life with him.

"Okay Team, we've got a single teenage mom who tried to rob this store so that she could get money to take care of her baby. Her feelings are primal." Greg paused his briefing and turned to Jules with a proud, encouraging smile lighting his face. "Jules, I know it's just your first day back, but you're great with teenagers. Do you think you can handle the negotiation?" His tone told her that he had all the confidence in the world in her.

Jules stared back at Greg straight in the eye. She thought about all she had been through in the past month: breaking on a call, seeming to fall from grace in her life, confronting the reality of her breakable human existence, facing her demons and uncertainty within a haze of fear and panic, breaking through to come out on top again. She thought about all she had learned about herself, realized she was blessed with: her family in her friends, her ability to rise-up after her fall. She thought about all the love she was continually given and all the love she had to give. She wasn't alone in this world, ergo more simplistically, she wouldn't be alone on this call. She glanced at Sam whose smile assured her she'd never be alone, never without love, never without hope. She smiled back at him with her eyes, communicating her thanks to him for the love and support he always gave freely.

Jules nodded her head at Greg and took a moment to stare into the eyes of each of her team mates in turn. "Yeah, Boss, I can do this. With you guys by my side, I can do anything."

**THE END**

**Author's Additional Note:** That Grey's quoting thing about "my person" is something I know we've all probably said at some point in our lives now. I was once IMing my friend about how excited I was to be going on a date with The Son of The Preacher Man (the name I gave a guy I once dated) and said at the end, "I just had to tell you, because you're my person," only to realize I was IMing one of my other friends. "Ummmm, oopps, sorry, I thought you were Coll." "That's okay, Eals; I know you two are BFFFF's." FAIL, Eals, fail. So, this is the end, my beautiful friend, the end. I hope you have enjoyed this story; it's been one Hell of a wild ride. Thanks for reading and sticking with it. Please check-out the new story I just started, _Glasgow_.

**Please leave a review **and let me know what you think of this chapter, this story, and the overall story arch of this Mutiny of The Brain, and Line in The Sand. I always love to hear what you have to say. Also, special thanks to all the members of the **#Flashpointpack** for 'encouraging' me along the way : )

Peace,

Eals


End file.
